


Haul Road Rebel

by FireflySummerwynd



Category: Poison (US Band), Richie Kotzen - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Glam Metal, Trucker, hair metal, ice road trucker, ice road trucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25203520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflySummerwynd/pseuds/FireflySummerwynd
Summary: Born & raised outside Fairbanks, Alaska, Marina Dixon was raised around snowmobiles as much as she was around big rigs. As the daughter of one of the area's top trucking company owners, she wasn't expected to be some papered lil princess. If anything, she was expected to get out there, bust her ass as hard as any guy, then get back up & dust off her britches before she did it again.So, when the notoriousGlam, Slam, Kings of Noisefind themselves in need of someone to haul their gear for their latest tour, she winds up taking the job. After all, hauling a bunch of musical instruments on everyday, paved roads can't be nearly as bad as hauling a pipe rig or full tanker up a highway made entirely of Ice-covered dirt, sometimes literal Ice with hundreds of feet of Water beneath, right?
Relationships: Richie Kotzen/Marina Dixon
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

“Daddy, ya know I’m more likely to actually die in a wreck up here than I am down in the Lower Forty-Eight, if only from running off the side of a Cliff at Atigun.”

Marina Dixon shot a reassuring smile to the man who’d fathered and raised her after her mother’s Death when she was just a toddler. Even though she was now a grown woman capable of a lot more than most women her age–who the fuck could discount that when she hauled massive pipe racks and other oversize and/or hazardous loads over solid Ice with a big rig?–she knew her father still worried about her. There was a lot that could happen to a woman on the road, no matter where she was, but some places were more hazardous than others were.

“I know that, sugar britches,” her father, Kyle, sighed. “Butcha know there’s a lot more hazards in the Lower Forty-Eight that’ll getcha just as quick.”

“Somethin’ tells me that outside City limits won’t be nearly as bad,” she chuckled. “Well, till I get to somewhere like Tornado Alley–now, _that’s_ me scared shitless already.”

“Ah, I’ve driven a rig through there before,” Kyle laughed. “Not nearly as bad as the North Slope, as long as there ain’t a Twister on the ground, even on the horizon.”

“Really, now?” The young woman cocked a brow curiously.

“Ya know how to keep even a reefer upright in a Wind Storm, girl,” he told her. “Put that Knowledge to use, just without Snow and Ice Fog, and you’ll be fine.”

_“Ahhhh,_ I gotcha,” Marina said with a nod.

“Go on and get outta here before I don’t letcha leave at all,” the middle-aged man chuckled, grabbing her for one last hug. “’Cuz you’re my ace driver, no matter what those ignorant guys say–I wantcha up here haulin’ for me again this Winter, damn it.”

“Ya know I’ll be back in Time for that, Daddy,” she laughed as she Returned the hug. “And if I’ma be even a couple weeks late starting the Season–well, you’ll be the second to know after me, and I’ll just pick up from there.”

“Atta girl, sugar britches,” Kyle said, a proud smile on his face as he gently clapped her back.

Flipping him off since he knew she hated being called that–especially by new hires over the CB–the young woman grabbed her suitcase and carry-on. She’d called one of the few cab companies in the Fairbanks area so she wouldn’t have to worry about making her father bring her personal truck back home from the Airport, or simply leaving it to be plugged in there. After all, it was only mid-April, and it didn’t start warming up good till closer to June–if her personal didn’t stay plugged in, the diesel motor’d freeze solid and take hoursta thaw out.

Upon arriving at FAI in Fairbanks, Marina took a deep breath that was quickly released in a heavy sigh as she climbed outta the cab. Even as she paid her fare and grabbed her belongings, she couldn’t help but be a bit nervous about heading South into what every Alaskan called the _Lower Forty-Eight_. She’d never done anything like what she was about to do, but that was all part of the fun–she loved a good challenge more than anything.

* * *

Walking outta LAX after a seven and a-half hour flight from Fairbanksta Los Angeles that included a couple connecting stops, Marina immediately noticed the difference. It was easily thirty degrees warmer, maybe even more than that, compared to Fairbanks’ average of around forty-five degrees in April. To her, it pretty much felt like walking into an oven–in fact, it brought to mind the old adage _outta the frying pan and into the Fire_ right off the bat. And to think that some of the places she was gonna wind up on this particular job were notoriously even hotter than this.

Almost immediately, she spotted a man holding up a sign that’d her name scrawled across it in handwriting even sloppier than her father’s. Willing to bet her entire first paycheck from this job that this was the guy who was supposed to be picking her up for said job, she headed over toward him. He almost immediately spotted her heading toward him and lowered the sign, apparently figuring his charge’d arrived at last.

“Ya Howie?” she asked once she was close enough to be heard.

“That’d be me,” the man answered. “I’m guessing you’re Marina?”

“In the flesh,” Marina chuckled, holding out her hand. “Pleasure to finally meetcha, not just hear your voice over the phone.”

“Likewise,” he agreed with a chuckle of his own. “Let’s get your bags in the car, and I’ll fill ya in on our way to where we’re heading.”

“Suits the fuck outta me,” the young woman said. “I just hope you’ve working AC in this thing.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Howie laughed as he popped his trunk. “Course, it’s not really that bad right now.”

“Take a trip up to Fairbanks, get used to it, then come back,” she retorted with a grin. “Or better yet, deal with fifty below on the North Slope in the dead of Winter, then get back to me on this not being that bad.”

“Okay, point taken,” the man said. “But compared to eighty, ninety, or even higher than that–not to mention muggy like it’ll be in some areas we’re gonna be going to–and seventy’s really not that bad.”

Rolling her eyes, even as she admitted that he’d a point, Marina moved to settle in the passenger’s seat of the car that’d be taking her to her next job. After a few moments and the slam of the trunk lid, he joined her by settling in the driver’s seat, his keys already pulled out and at the ready. She didn’t have the slightest clue what she was getting into, other than it was her job to safely haul some pretty precious cargo. But that was the thing that’d made her take this job, no questions asked–it was a challenge to her, one she was _gonna_ succeed at.


	2. One

After the first leg of the tour she’d signed on as the trucker for, Marina was preparing for Howie to pick her up to get started on her part. Since she didn’t have her CDL for any country except America and there simply wasn’t enough Time to correct that part, they’d hired a local rig and driver for the first couple weeks since they were supposed to be in the UK for the first week or so. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, even if it _did_ ultimately cost the band a bit more than they mighta originally planned on.

During those couple weeks that the rest of the crew was overseas, the young woman worked on familiarizing herself with her new rig. When she said new, she wasn’t kidding, either–not only was it new to _her_ as a trucker, but it was also a newer model than what she was used to. Kyle Dixon couldn’t be said to skimp and cut corners in order to save a few company bucks, but she preferred the older rigs. She’d damn near cut her teeth on the gear-shifters of seventies model rigs, so she preferred rigs built from then up till about ’85. Beyond that, they were usually built with a few too many features that–in her opinion–were completely unnecessary, especially somewhere like up on the Haul Road.

Spotting the band manager’s car, she nabbed her suitcase so she could drag it to the curb of the hotel she’d checked outta that Morn. Her carry-on–which was more or less a purse, something she rarely ever carried–was already slung over her shoulder as she waited. That just gave her one less thing to have to worry about damn near being stolen during her wait, or forgotten ’cuz she didn’t grab it once he’d arrived.

Howie called out a greeting through the window he rolled down, having learned pretty quick that this was a woman accustomed to working, not being pampered. While he was kind enough to pop his trunk for her, he didn’t bother wasting Time by getting out to offer help he knew wouldn’t be accepted. As he watched her stow her gear in his trunk, then slam the lid shut, he figured she’d be the perfect ass-kicker for the majority of the guys she was soon to meet. They were certainly some hard-working fuckers–they always had been–but there were some areas where they _really_ needed a swift kick in the pants, front or back side.

“I see you’re still alive,” the manager chuckled as she flopped into his passenger’s seat.

“Damn well feels like I’m dying with this Weather!” Marina laughed, not bothering with a seat belt.

“Buckle up, girl,” he gently admonished her.

“Bah, City streets and a ticket for no seat belt in a car don’t skeer me!” the young woman retorted. “Try hauling a pipe rack over a place like Atigun Pass without shittin’ yer britches and get back to me.”

“Atigun Pass?” Howie asked, his attention on the road as he took off.

“Part of the Dalton Highway up in Alaska,” she explained. “It’s one of the passes through the Brooks Mountains up toward the North Slope of Alaska. Damn thing’s almost five thousand foot above Sea level, and it’s treacherous as hell–light loads won’t give ya enough traction on the Ice, heavy ’uns make ya spin and/or burn out and slide back down, if ya ain’t careful.”

“Shit, I’d prolly soil myself just from riding along for that,” the manager laughed.

“And that’s prolly with a light load, like a snowmobile or something,” Marina snickered. “Now, imagine riding along for a fifty-plus-ton pipe rack, or one of the push-trucking gigs where you’ve something upwards of a hundred tons like a mod.”

“You’re gonna be scaring the boys shitless with some of your tales, I can already tell,” he chuckled.

“Bah, Atigun with _any_ load’s nothing compared to hauling anything–especially fuel–out across literal Ice,” the young woman told him. “Crossing a frozen River, or the frozen Arctic Sea’s downright terrifying, even when you’re bobtailing.”

Shaking his head, Howie simply chuckled as he made the turn into the parking lot where they were meeting up with the rest of the crew, not to mention the band. He could already tell this girl was gonna be a lively one, whether she was scaring the boys shitless the whole tour or not. Maybe that’d make the tour that much more interesting–as if trying such an endeavour with a new guy this Time around wouldn’t be interesting in its own right to Begin with.

Marina ignored the looks she got from most of the band and crew as she climbed outta the car she’d been riding in and headed around to the trunk. She’d never been the kinda woman to let a bunch of guys get under her skin, considering the way she’d grown up. If anything, she gave ten Times as good as she got and then some when a man got to smarting off at her, especially over something stupid.

“Um, Howie?” she heard one of them say as they walked up. “I thoughtcha were going to get the driver for our gear…”

“Don’t let looks fool ya, boys,” the young woman drawled.

“Oh, there’s no way _you’re_ the driver!” the taller of the blondes cackled.

“Feel like puttin’ yer money where yer mouth is, big boy?” Marina cocked a brow over her shades. “’Cuz a hundred bucks says _you_ won’t get that rig fired up quicker’n I will.”

“Man, I wouldn’t take _that_ bet, if I were you.” This was said with a chuckle by the taller of the brunettes. “This doesn’t seem like a chick to mess with.”

“Y’all don’t even know the half of it,” she quipped, pulling the keys she’d been given for the rig decorated with their band logo outta her pocket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s work to be done so we can take off.”

Turning on the heel of her Steel-toed boot, she strode over to the rig in question as she leafed through the keys. Pausing right under the driver’s door, she was quick to unlock and open it so she could haul herself up into the driver’s _seat_. She could feel the eyes of the band and crew on her as she did just that, easily managing to haul her suitcase up with her, rather than shoving it into the seat before she climbed up. But she couldn’t have cared less as she plopped down, making everything from her ample bosom to the seat, itself bounced from the force of her weight dropping back down.

Marina didn’t bother trying to crank the rig before climbing right back down after tossing her bags into the sleeper so she could actually stow them properly later. Back on the ground, she slammed the door before pausing next to the back side of the hood, then rounded said hood. Still acutely aware of all the eyes on her, she rounded it till she was Centered along the grill, where she stepped up onto the front bumper.

All the guys watched as she grabbed the hood ornament, then practically threw herself backward with only her opposite foot to catch herself. To all their amazement, she didn’t so much as stumble as she caught herself, her other foot joining the one already on the ground as she hauled the hood up. Such a move bespoke experience none of them could say they possessed, which was a bit of a surprise, considering how young this chick looked. If they’d to try guessing, they’d say he looked only about the age of their new guitarist, Richie, who’d only just turned twenty-three. None of them thought she should have this kinda experience with a machine this big, if she was really that young, but they also didn’t know her history.

Following a quick check of shit like fluids and belts, the young woman closed the hood before buckling it down again so it wouldn’t try to fly open while going down the road. As she rounded the hood again, she shot a look at the band as she yelled that if they still dared to try showing her up on getting the rig cranked up to c’mon. She doubted the one who’d tried to challenge her before’d actually step up to the plate, which only made her smirk as her suspicion was confirmed.

“Now I know why ya love pussy so much–’cuz ya _are_ one!” Marina taunted him as she opened the driver’s door again.

“Hey!” the taller blonde barked, his buddies cracking up.

“I mean, c’mon–I _have_ a pussy, and even I ain’t skeered to put my money where my mouth is!” she laughed, hauling herself up again. “Fuck, I’d lay money on having bigger balls’n you!”

“Yeah, right, sweetheart!” he shot back. “You don’t even _have_ balls!”

“Sure, I do,” the young woman said, grinning as she leaned out the door. “They’re so big, I’ve to wear ’em on my chest instead of hiding ’em in my britches.”

“Man, just…shut up!” the shorter of the blonde begged through his laughter.

“You’re not…winning this…pissing…contest…Rik,” the taller of the brunettes told him as he laughed just as hard.

“I like her already,” the shorter of the brunettes said once he’d finally Calmed down. “I can tell she’s a _take-no-shit_ kinda chick.”

“Damn right, after the way I grew up,” the young woman told them. “Course, that happens when you’re raised by a man in a group of men on a fuckin’ barn yard.”

“Ya were seriously raised in a barn?” This was asked by the taller blonde she’d been bantering with.

“Trucker slang for company yard, ya dolt,” Marina dead-panned. “Now, shut up and lemme get a Flame thrown in this Dragon.”

Ducking into the rig, she was quick to stomp the clutch she’d bet they’d have trouble with as she jerked the gear-shifter into _Neutral_. Seconds later, they heard a rumble that was swiftly followed by a roar, which took all of them except Howie by surprise. Even though she’d sworn she could, they hadn’t actually thought she could have that monster machine fired up quicker than they would. But that was certainly proven when she’d gotten it fired up as quick as they could fire up their own personal cars, which they were more familiar with.

Course, even the crew was practically plastering themselves against the bus when the monster before them started to move, and not ’cuz she was climbing into or outta it. Before they knew it, the rig’d been moved across the parking lot closer to where their trailer full of gear’d been parked. They all watched her as she got the rig lined up, then let it more or less pull itself backward toward the aforementioned trailer.

None of the musicians could help a slight wince at the jolt sent through the trailer as she got hooked up, a blast of Air signifying that she’d engaged the brakes. Seconds later, the young woman was climbing back outta the rig and heading toward its ass-End, and they couldn’t help wanting to get a better view. They were surprised to see her in what seemed like a tiny Space between the back wall of the cab and the front wall of the trailer. They watched her carefully as she attached two or three different hoses–they couldn’t tell exactly how many from this distance–and made sure they were secure. Assured of that, she hopped back down so she could head over to them, having never once taken her shades off since her arrival.

Richie couldn’t help backing against the bus again at the Energetic Waves he felt rolling off her, which screamed that she’d mop the floor with all of them before they could so much as deck her. She was certainly an intriguing one, but not one he wanted to tango with anytime soon–not even if one was using that as a referenceta sex. He didn’t consider anything–up to and including Life, limb, and manhood–worth trying to tango with a woman a foot shorter than them who could kick all their asses and them some.

“Which one of y’all’s bus driver?” she asked, her attention focused on the crew.

“Uh, that’d be me,” a man by the name of Jack spoke up. “Jack Jameson.”

“Just call me Rina till we’re on the CB,” the young woman chuckled, holding out a hand. “We get on the CB, and my handle’s Rebel Angel.”

“You’re fuckin’ shitting me,” the taller of the blondes laughed.

“I don’t get called the _Haul Road Rebel_ for nothin’, damn it,” Marina said, a smirk curving her lips. “But I’m quite the angel when I feel like it, so that handle stuck before I was even old enough to get a Class-C license.”

“I’m not even sure I wanna know whatcha mean by _Haul Road Rebel,”_ the bus driver chuckled.

_“Haul Road_ means Dalton Highway to those who run it,” she explained. “I’m the rebel of that route, not ’cuz my daddy’s the owner of one of the top trucking companies in that area and damn near lets me get away with murder, but ’cuz I play by my own rules.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Jack said. “My concern’s getting the band there in one piece–well, four, butcha know what I mean.”

“Oh, don’t worry about the gear–I’ve hauled worse than some toys and stage setups,” the young woman snickered.

“They’re not toys!” the taller blonde snapped. “There’s a lotta money in our gear!”

“Till _you_ haul a tanker of jet fuel up a literal Ice road, put a dick in it,” Marina drawled. “Once ya do that without blowing yourself up or throwing yourself off a Cliff, come talk to me.”

All their jaws dropped in utter shock as she turned her attention back to the bus driver they’d worked with ever since the _Look What the Cat Dragged In_ tour. She told him that if he’d a CB handle, he’d better spit out what it was before she just picked one for him so there’d be absolutely no mistaking who she was calling out to. He turned out to _not_ have his own CB, which made her lips purse thoughtfully as she studied him for a few Silent moments that made them all squirm.

“Favorite fruit?” the young woman asked.

“Uh, I guess I’d have to say Apples,” he admitted.

“Poison Apple,” Marina chuckled, making all their brows rise.

“Seriously?” the bus driver laughed.

“Well, you’re the bus driver for the band Poison, andja like Apples,” she said. “Makes as much sense as Rebel Angel for me since I’ma rebellious lil angel.”

“I guess that’s true enough,” Jack agreed with a grin. “Definitely won’t be any mistaking who you’re hollerin’ at like that, for sure.”

With that settled, the young woman made sure they were clear on what CB channel they were using so that anything they called out to each other wouldn’t go unheard. She’d two different CBs in the rig that she was keeping tuned to two different channels, provided that they were both in use. One’d be on channel seventeen for private conversations with him, but the other’d be on nineteen so she could keep an ear on other things.

As the actual trucker, Marina needed to keep an ear out for general shit like being told to pull into a weigh station. That, and there was other Intel that could be shared from other truckers’d that’d help both of them, as long as he knew enough CB slang to actually understand full-fledged truckers. But that was the part that was gonna be hard for him, ’cuz he _didn’t_ really know any CB slang other than the generic _10-4_. Slamming the heel of her hand into her forehead, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to the passenger’s side of the rig, where she shoved him up into the seat.

The rest of the crew and the band watched as she rounded the hood and hauled herself up into the driver’s seat, where she quickly disappeared from view. After a few moments, she reappeared and plopped back into the seat, which made the whole rig rock slightly from the force. She seemed kinda animated as she propped something on the steering wheel, that something turning out to be a notepad or something along those lines. It appeared she was writing something down, but they didn’t know what she could possibly be writing for him.

Jack soon climbed back down outta the rig, a sheet of paper in his hand as he yelled something up to her before slamming the door. Whatever her response was, it was muffled before that door slammed and effectively cut her off from the outside World. That was when their driver turned and shooed them onto the bus with a hand gesture, which was followed by the Sound of the rig’s brakes releasing before a blast of the horn. Only seconds later, the rig started moving toward the parking lot exit, the trailer following behind like a leashed puppy as the young woman took off ahead of them. He told them that while they were getting loaded up and double-checking their personal belongings, she was running over to the nearby weigh station, but they were good to hit the road for their first venue.


	3. Two

Two weeks into the tour, the band and crew both’d gotten into a relatively comfortable rhythm on both a personal and professional level. It’d taken the first few Days for it to sink into all but Richie’s head that their trucker this Time around wasn’t gonna take their shit in the slightest. All of them’d thought she’d eventually cave and just deal with it–only to be surprised when she’d pulled out a riding crop and a Bull whip out and asked which one they wanted her to come after them with. Every single one of the band members’d scattered like a swarm of disturbed gnats, all of them terrified of what she was capable of.

But by the End of those first two weeks, there was a Change on the horizon that not even Howie coulda predicted. The new band baby hadn’t been getting more than a couple hours of sleep at a Time, no thanksta the guys he’d joined for the making of some damn good Music. His mood also wasn’t helped due to not getting to play nearly as many of their new songs each Night, and he needed a break.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath before he lost his nerve, the virtuoso carefully climbed the catwalk up the driver’s side of the rig bearing his band’s logo. He wasn’t gonna bother getting said band’s manager to do this for him, if only to prove a point to himself, rather than anyone else. Asking Marina for what he knew was no doubt to be a huge favor was as much a matter of Pride for him as knowing that Howie was incredibly busy and didn’t always have the Time to spare for this kinda shit.

“The hell–Richie?” She rubbed her eyes before blinking at him sleepily after she finally appeared from the sleep and settled in the driver’s seat so she could roll down the window.

“Sorry to wake ya up, Rina,” Richie said, a sheepish note coloring his voice.

“What’s up? Gotta be a damn good reason since y’all know I sleep through Sound check and half the show so I’m good to go after the latter,” the young woman mused.

“I was hoping I could beg a helluva favor from ya,” he admitted.

“Depends on what the favor is,” Marina told him. “’Cuz if ya think it’s gonna involve sex, think again.”

“No, no, no–nothing like that,” the virtuoso assured her. “It involves your sleeper, yeah, but not for _that.”_

She merely cocked a brow at him curiously.

“The guys’ve been keeping me up too much with their constant partying on the bus,” Richie explained with a sigh. “Well, Bobby’s generally pretty quiet unless they get him riled up on gin, but that’s beside the point.”

_“Ahhhh,_ I see.” The young woman couldn’t help a chuckle. “You’re wanting to at least catch a nap here in the rig before ya slit somebody’s throat.”

“Well, I was hoping for more long-term than that, but I get it, if you’re not comfortable with that,” he said.

“I’ll tell ya what.” Marina wore a thoughtful, yet serious expression that her sleepiness still managed to bleed through. “We’ll see how well we can stand each other by the End of the week, if we do that, and go from there. The worst I’ma do to ya’s chop your dick off, if ya try anything slick, ’cuz I’d really rather not have to hide in the Alaskan bush to avoid a murder charge.”

“Hey, that’s more than fair,” the virtuoso agreed, nodding. “Hope for the best, expect the worst–that’s what I told myself before I even climbed up here.”

Laughing, she told him to either get the hell in the rig so he could at least catch a nap, as long as he’d already done Sound check, or to get lost so she could go back to sleep. As exhausted as he was from two weeks of a bunch of party-boys keeping him up, he wasn’t about to turn down a quiet placeta at least nap for the moment. He’d worry about getting his shit off the bus later since he wasn’t about to leave it for those idiotsta dig through overnight, but a few hours wouldn’t hurt.

Managing to maintain his grip on the handle that ran up the massive exhaust pipe next to him, Richie stepped outta the way so she could open the driver’s door for him. After it was open, she turned and rose from the seat so he could slide in, telling him to watch the gear-shifter as he swung his own legs around. There was a decently big gap to allow for walking around the cab, but she still wanted him to exercise Caution.

He was a bit surprised once he was in the rig with the door closed and locked, which allowed him to turn and realize she wore nothing but a tank top and a pair of boxers. Even still, he managed to focus on what she was telling him, which was that kinda like any other passenger car, it wasn’t good to knock a transmission into or outta gear without use of the clutch. It also wasn’t good to go straight from _First_ to _Sixth_ or anything of the sort, ’cuz it could easily damage the transmission. Should the transmission get wrecked, their wait for a new rig could be a pretty long one since that usually wasn’t a quick, easy fix.

“I gotcha,” the virtuoso said as he followed her into the sleeper once he was back on his feet.

“You’re stuck with the top bunk, ya lanky bastard,” Marina chuckled, sealing off the sleeper so they’d have Darkness once the Lights were turned out.

“I’d argue that, if I weren’t as skinny as I am,” he laughed. “But it makes perfect sense, given I’m definitely skinny and so much taller.”

“Hey, I’m already being nice by sharing my sleeper–not to mention one of my pillows,” the young woman told him, a sleepy smirk curving her lips. “You’re not getting my damn bed, too.”

“I wasn’t gonna demand your bed, too,” Richie assured her, letting her get settled before he reached up to grab said bunk. “Just gotta remember not to smack my head when I wake up.”

“No shit, ’cuz there ain’t a whole helluva lotta room up there,” she snickered.

“Not much different than the bunks on the bus, honestly,” the virtuoso mused once he’d levered himself up. “Still don’t feel like giving myself a headache right after managing to sleep one off.”

“Yeah, definitely don’t need that,” Marina agreed with a yawn. “Feel free to chuck your jeans down, if you’re not gonna ball ’em up on the mattress next to ya. I wouldn’t have answered in just my own skivvies, if I gave a shit about that kinda shit.”

Humming an affirmative, he managed to wriggle his way outta the jeans he’d dragged on after the guys’ partying’d driven him off the bus from his last attempt at a nap being turned into an epic failure. Those jeans wound up balled up on the mattress next to him since he wasn’t exactly comfortable getting down without being almost fully dressed again. Maybe that was due to the fact that he didn’t know this woman very well and he was always a bit more reserved in that kinda situation, if it didn’t involve sex, maybe it wasn’t.

Sighing as he settled down with the pillow she handed up to him now under his head, Richie couldn’t help a slight smile as his eyes started to flutter shut. He could already catch hints of whatever perfume she wore from the pillow she’d loaned him, and it smelled absolutely Divine to him. Were he to really think about it, he’d describe it as warm and sweet, almost like some kinda pie or something, but he was too tired to think any harder than that. It definitely wasn’t like the typical sickeningly-sweet, fruity shit that most women wore, so it was a nice Change from what he was used to. For that reason, the scent helped lull him to sleep, and it wasn’t long before his breathing leveled off into that familiar deep, even pattern of deep sleep.

Later that Night, Marina was just relaxing while the band was onstage for their show in Fargo, North Dakota, which was relatively similar to where she was from. It wasn’t identical to Alaska–especially out in the bush–by any means, but it was certainly closer to being so than Southern California was. Then again, it didn’t really matter what part of the Planet she was on at the moment–she was always right at home in a rig, no matter the setting outside it.

Since she’d slept till about halfway through the show like she’d planned, she didn’t really have anything to do till the trailer on her ass-End was reloaded with the band’s gear. Due to actually having some Peace and quiet, she decided to make a quick call, hoping the person she was Intent on talking to was free. Given that it was about ten where she was, she hoped she did her math right since she wasn’t used to factoring in Time zone Changes. She was used to being in the same Time zone, just with a Change in altitude, if there was any kinda Change at all besides maybe the scenery. But being on tour with a band that went to damn near every State in the Lower Forty-Eight when they were doing a domestic tour threw her off.

“Hey, Daddy,” the young woman chuckled once she finally got an answer.

_“Well, hey there, sugar britches!”_ Kyle laughed. _“I was wonderin’ when you’d check in.”_

“Been kinda crazy the last few weeks,” she admitted. “Spent the first two or three weeks getting used to the rig while the band was overseas, and the last couple’ve been fuckin’ insane.”

_“What kinda rig they gotcha in?”_ her father asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Brand-spankin’-new Kenworth W900L,” Marina answered. “Damn thing’s awesome and all, but I miss my ten-speed!”

The older man couldn’t help a laugh. _“How many’s this joker got?”_

“Eighteen, which’s why I spent those first two or three weeks driving it around Los Angeles,” she told him.

Kyle whistled appreciatively. _“Sounds like that was fun.”_

“’Bout as much as push-truckin’ through Anchorage and Fairbanks,” the young woman dead-panned, much to his amusement.

_“Hey, we both know ya love those gigs, sugar britches!”_ he laughed.

“Daddy, I’ma turn ya into Bear food when I get back, if ya keep that shit up!” Marina said, knowing he could hear the grin on her face as Richie and Howie found her at the payphone she’d located.

_“Ya know ya love me too much for that,”_ the older man retorted.

“Well, love or hatecha, looks like duty calls,” she sighed. “Maybe not quite yet aside from a bit of a conversation, but it _will_ soon enough.”

_“Better get to it before ya get sent back home early,”_ Kyle chuckled. _“I’m just gladja managed to check in.”_

“So am I, and hopefully it won’t take me so long to give ya another call,” the young woman said.

_“Here’s hoping, but don’t let it distractcha and either damage freight or get someone killed,”_ he warned her. _“Call whenever you’ve a chance, but don’t let that be the only thing on your mind.”_

“Ya know I’ma better trucker’n that, Daddy,” Marina laughed. “Love ya more than I can put into the honk of a horn.”

_“Love ya just as much, sugar britches,”_ the older man responded, unable to resist taking one last jab.

Rolling her eyes as she Ended the call by hanging up, she couldn’t help laughing under her breath as she turned to the pair who’d more or less eavesdropped on the latter half of her phone call. She knew they hadn’t meant to eavesdrop at all, which was why she didn’t immediately start bitching them out for it. No doubt Richie’d managed to catch his manager alone and explain what he Intended to do for at least the foreseeable Future. If not, then he Intended to break the newsta him now, which was why he was waiting patiently for her full attention to be turned onto them. But now that her phone call to her father was finished up, they definitely had her full attention as she butted a shoulder against the wall, a hip cocked as she crossed her arms.

“All right, fill me in,” Howie said, a bit of a frown marring his features. “Richie refusesta get on the bus, but he won’t say why or how he expectsta get to the next venue, if he doesn’t.”

“Worked out our own arrangement, as long as he ain’t Changed his mind since this afternoon,” the young woman chuckled.

“After the last two weeks, fuck no,” he spat as if he’d acid burning his tongue. “But I also didn’t want the entire fuckin’ crew knowing, either.”

“I don’t blame ya in the least,” Marina said, grinning. “No one but us and Howie need know you’re commandeering my sleeper at Night while we’re going down the road.”

“Wait, what?” The manager’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Part of my bad attitude’s been from the guys keeping me up with all their partying,” Richie explained. “Mostly Bret and Rikki since Bobby tendsta be pretty quiet till they get him wound up on gin, but that’s beside the point.”

“The point’s that no sleep’s not helping your performances, and it’s bound to eventually getcha fired,” he said, Enlightenment starting to Dawn.

“Bingo, so I took matters into my own hands,” the virtuoso told him, nodding.

“The agreement’s that we give it a week, see if we wanna kill each other by then or not,” Marina spoke up. “I can usually tell whether I’ma befriend or wanna kill someone by the End of a week, if it takes me that long, or I’d have agreed to letting him commandeer my sleeper when I ain’t using it for the rest of the tour.”

“As long as you’re all right with it,” Howie said, a bit of a reluctant note in his voice.

“Done warned him not to try anything slick, or he’d lose his dick,” she snickered, flipping a pocket knife seemingly outta nowhere. “’Cuz if he gives me reason to have to hide in the Alaskan bush to avoid a murder charge–well, I’ma make it more than worth my while when I do it.”

Richie audibly gulped before assuring her that he was rather fond of living to see another Sunrise, and with his genitalia in their current position. He might be a bit of a wild child, especially once he started drinking on the rare occasions that actually happened, but he wasn’t stupid. If a woman told him no to certain things–well, he wasn’t one to ask twice aside from making sure she was absolutely certain in what she said. No wasn’t a yes or a maybe in disguise–it was a flat-out no, as far as he was concerned, but double-checking never hurt anyone that he was aware of.

Assured that they’d thought through their tentative plan and were sure about their decisions, the manager escorted them to the rig. The rest of the guys were still in the venue, where they were making good use of locker room showers for some relaxation and more importantly, some desperately-needed hygiene. None of them were around to see the band baby moving his belongings from one vehicle to another before boarding.

Once hidden within the rig’s sleeper so he could actually talk to the young woman without being seen from outside, he heaved a sigh of relief. Even though he’d to fold down the top bunk again after settling his bags on the opposite side of the sleeper from hers, he was glad that he’d finally be able to get some sleep. Maybe it wouldn’t be totally undisturbed–she’d warned him that she kept her CBs on at all Times unless she was trying to sleep, herself–but it’d certainly better than before. He might actually be able to tune out the CBs and any racket they made, which’d certainly be easier than trying to tune out the Congress of Baboons he called his band mates when they were wound up and drinking.

Pulling the curtain shut enough to have some privacy while he was changing, the virtuoso couldn’t resist the urge to get to know his new bunk mate a bit more. Sure, he already knew that she was a _take-no-shit_ kinda chick and that she’d a violent streak a mile wide when she wanted to, but there _had_ to be more to her than that. From what he could tell so far, she was a sweetheart deep within–she just didn’t show it very often, whether it was a Self-preservation method or ’cuz of something else.

“You’re from the South, right?” he asked, letting his jeans drop so he could step outta them.

“Born and raised outside Fairbanks,” Marina chuckled. “My accent and dialect say otherwise, though, ’cuz my parents were from the South.”

“I was about to ask about that,” the virtuoso said, opening the curtain again once he’d his PJ britches on. “’Cuz that wasn’t wanting to compute at first.”

“Figured I’d save ya the trouble,” she laughed.

“So, if your parents were from the South, what on Earth made them move to Alaska, of all places?” Richie asked curiously as he settled in the passenger’s seat for now.

“Daddy was in the Army and got stationed in Anchorage before I was born,” the young woman answered. “He got medically discharged the Year before my Birth, and they decided they liked it too much to go back South, so they stuck around.”

_“Ahhhh.”_ He nodded as he tied his hair back in a loose ponytail at his nape to keep it outta his face. “No Wonder ya seem so miserable in the warmer climes.”

“Kinda hard to avoid when you’re used to it only being about sixty-one this Time of Year,” Marina retorted with a smirk. “But trust me, that ain’t as bad as it gets at Night up toward Prudhoe in the dead of Winter.”

“Prudhoe?” The virtuoso couldn’t help looking confused.

“Prudhoe Bay,” she laughed. “It’s an oil Town practically kissing the Arctic Ocean, well above the Arctic Circle.”

Richie nodded as he gestured for her to continue.

“It tendsta get anywhere from fifty to seventy below during the Ice road Season that far North, and the Wind chill usually takes it down to more like twenty below even that,” the young woman explained.

He couldn’t help wincing and shivering, the mere Thought of being exposed to such a thing making him rub his arms like he was cold. Despite growing up in the Philadelphia area and being relatively used to the cold, he’d never been through anything worse than maybe one-to-five below. There was no amount of overactive Imagination on the Planet that could allow him to fathom such a thing without living through it for himself.

Marina couldn’t help another laugh as she said that it really wasn’t that bad once one got used to it, if they hadn’t grown up through it like she had. If she’d to lay money on which band member’d freeze to Death the quickest, she’d lay her money on the other brunette, whom everybody seemed to call Bobby. From what she’d noticed in the last couple weeks, he seemed to be pretty cold-Natured, ’cuz he seemed to be forever moving to warm spots like a Lizard. If he didn’t move to a warm spot, he seemed to be forever bundling up like they were in Alaska, whether they were talking one Time of Year or another.

The virtuoso let out a laugh of his own as he admitted that she was right about the bassist prolly being the most likely to freeze first. From what he’d learned about his band mates, Bobby was a native Floridian, which meant he was accustomed to heat and humidity the same way she was to cold and Snow. In fact, the blonde half of the band swore he’d moved back to his hometown of Miami back in ’89 ’cuz he loved the heat and humidity so much, so this wasn’t uncharacteristic behavior for him.

It wasn’t long before Richie simply couldn’t bite back his yawns anymore, although he’d been trying since he was enjoying talking to her. Not only that, but he was trying not to be rude by cutting her off mid-sentence with a yawn loud enough to be heard outside the rig when it was running. The young woman gently shooed him off to bed so he could catch up on his desperately-needed rest, provided that he didn’t need one last potty break before turning in. Her final warning other than to make sure any bottles he pissed in, if he needed to go that badly and they couldn’t stop were tightly closed was that he was bound to hear some crazy shit. She’d try not to keep him up or jerk him from a dead sleep, but CB slang could get heated and colorful at Times, even down South in the Lower Forty-Eight.

Chuckling as he assured her that as exhausted as he was, he doubted she’d be able to keep him up for shit, he headed into the sleeper to haul himself into his bunk. This Time, he’d dragged his own pillows off the bus while no one was around to see him, so he wouldn’t have to steal any of hers. Course, that made him just a hair depressed since he’d enjoyed the scent of her perfume, but didn’t dare try to find wherever she was hiding it to spray some on his own pillows. It didn’t really matter if he got to enjoy that warm, sweet scent right now–what mattered was getting some sleep, and arriving at their next venue safely.


	4. Three

“Damn bucket mouth–get off the fuckin’ radio! Or better yet, meet me at the top of yard stick one-seventy-one–even the next closest waterin’ hole–and prove yerself anything _but_ a CB Rambo!”

Richie snorted softly as he was startled outta a dead sleep, his eyes flying open at the sound of a heated conversation from up front. He wasn’t too sure about the meanings of anything that was being said, if only ’cuz he was still more asleep than he wasn’t. Then again, while he understood every word that came outta the young woman’s mouth in the sense of speaking English, he got the feeling that they were being used in a completely different context at the moment.

_“Girl, take your ass back to the watering hole where lot Lizards and seat covers belong,”_ came a laughing response from the CB that he innately knew was derogatory as he slipped outta his bunk.

“I take that back, ya ass–ya ain’t nothin’ but an impatient Cotton-chopper with your hammer down,” Marina snarked back. “Now, get the fuck off my Donkey before I brake-check yer ass.”

_“I’m not on your Donkey, girl,”_ whoever was taunting her said.

_“Good Luck proving that to the Bear creepin’ up on_ your _Donkey,”_ another voice chimed in.

Richie almost immediately recognized that second male voice as Jack’s, even as he screwed the lid of a soda bottle on as tight as he could manage since he’d needed to piss upon waking up. A litany of Curses spewed outta the CB as he noticed flashing Lights in the mirrors that seemed too far away for them to mean the young woman he was with was getting pulled. Sure enough, yet another voice came over the CB that assured her that the joker hassling her’d be taken care of, and she was free to continue on her way as long as she didn’t have any other problems. An affirmative was quickly called out to the apparent cop that’d been listening in on the conversation and taken even the excuse of a burnt-out taillight as a reason to make a traffic stop.

_“Damn, Rebel Angel_ – _ya don’t play around, do ya?”_ Jack laughed, somehow sounding clearer than before.

“Ten-four, Poison Apple,” she chuckled, having hung up one mic and grabbed the other, which made him realize they’d switched CBs. “Let ’im have fun back at the Chicken coop, at the least, and maybe he’ll learn a few lessons.”

_“Or he’ll just have it out for ya for all Eternity,”_ the bus driver laughed.

“Be kinda hard to find me up in the bush since I ain’t staying down here forever,” Marina retorted with a laugh of her own.

_“Damn shame, girl, ’cuz we’re not even a month in and it’s been a lot more fun than any other tour,”_ he admitted.

“That’s a big ten-four, but nothin’ beats big-girl bumper-cars up in the bush,” the young woman laughed, pausing when she heard something else. “Well, shit–looks like I need to turn some volume down.”

_“Why’s that?”_ Jack asked, sounding concerned.

“’Cuz apparently, we woke Richie up,” she chuckled, said virtuoso settling in the passenger’s seat beside her.

_“Damn_ – _sorry, kid,”_ the bus driver said.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Richie chuckled once she held the mic she was using out to him with her thumb on the button. “Prolly woulda woke up soon, anywhore.”

_“Ah, gotta love those Midnight potty breaks_ – _or their equivalents, if you’re sleeping during the Day,”_ he laughed.

“Not really, but what can ya do?” the virtuoso asked.

Even Marina couldn’t help a laugh since she knew he’d a point as she hung up the mic for what she considered her personal CB. She still apologized for waking him up as he buckled up, now that he wasn’t hiding in the sleeper for the Night. Just like he’d done when his bus driver’d apologized, he brushed it off with a yawn, swearing he’d have prolly woken up soon to piss. After all, he’d sucked down quite a bit of Water after the show in an attempt to cool off and rehydrate, and that Water needed to come back out sometime.

He couldn’t resist asking just where they’d made it to ever since he passed out in the back, feeling like he hadn’t slept nearly long enough as he stretched and tilted his head against his seat. Chuckling softly, the young woman said they were prolly an hour or so outside Minneapolis, which was their next stop on the tour. That meant he’d gotten three or four hours of sleep since he’d passed out before the reload started, then slept right through it once it did. Add a couple hours on the road to that, and that brought him up to the estimated total, which no doubt wasn’t nearly enough for him. Once he processed that, it was no damn Wonder he felt like he hadn’t slept in three or four Days–which he kinda _hadn’t,_ to be honest.

“Too bad I won’t get back to sleep for a while without passing out right here,” Richie chuckled. “I’m the kinda guy that once I wake up, that’s it–I won’t fall back to sleep for a few hours unless I quite literally pass out.”

“I know that feeling,” she laughed. “But hey, gives me someone _other_ than my demons and imaginary friendsta talk to for a while.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s a bit of a bright side,” the virtuoso agreed. “I’d rather stay up chatting till we get to the next venue than lay back there tossing and turning.”

“Not thatcha can really do that in most sleepers,” Marina said with a grin. “Most’re ’bout half the width of a Twin, if you’re lucky.”

“How the hell’d this one get something damn near the size of a Full, then?” He couldn’t help a confused look as he turned in the seat to face her.

“Money talks, and bullshit walks, sugar,” the young woman laughed. “Not saying I’m poor or anything, but the band’s more money collectively than I’ll prolly ever see, so they can get their hands on whatever they want, few if any questions asked.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Richie admitted. “Those guys’re definitely loaded, that’s for sure.”

“You’re technically the new guy, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, first album and tour with them,” the virtuoso answered. “They’ve already made a metric fuck-ton of money with three other albums and tours, so I’m the poor kid from back East in comparison.”

“Sounds like we’d have to pool money together to get this kinda rig, if we wanted it outside a tour or something–which I _don’t,”_ Marina snickered. “I love my split, ten-speed T800s better’n this thing.”

He couldn’t help his Curiosity as he asked what the difference between what they were currently in and her preferred model was. From what he could tell so far, she seemed to be as Knowledgeable and Passionate about machines like this as he was about instruments, himself. Maybe he’d never get into trucking since he’d rather make a name for himself in the Music industry, but learning something new never hurt.

The young woman grinned as she admitted that while this particular rig’d more gearsta play with and more horsepower, she’d pretty much grown up in less powerful rigs. A grin split her face as she claimed to’ve all but cut her teeth on the gear-shifter of one of the seventies models her father’d decommissioned for company use, but still used for personal shit. It was that claim that really caught his attention, and not just ’cuz he thought it utterly ridiculous since babies usually used teething toys. She hadn’t really talked about her family, other than to say that her father was former Army and owned his own trucking company. Now, he couldn’t help wondering, but at the same Time, he didn’t wanna ask anything that could be too personal for her.

“I know you’re wondering why I don’t talk about my mom,” Marina said, calling him out on his Curiosity as if reading his mind.

“I won’t deny it, but I didn’t wanna push any buttons by asking,” he admitted a bit sheepishly.

“Can’t really talk about somebody I never knew,” the young woman told him, shrugging. “Only way I ever knew her was from the stories Daddy told me growin’ up.”

Richie’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t get a chanceta ask before she continued.

“She died when I was a toddler–by saving me,” she told him, much to his surprise.

“Oh, my God–my condolences,” the virtuoso breathed.

“Don’t worry about it–I was a Year old when it happened, so it’s not like I remember it,” Marina said. “She came between me and a rabid Wolf, so it’s not like it wasn’t a noble Death or anything.”

He couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and grab her hand, which he squeezed gently as he rubbed his thumb over the back of it.

“But ’cuz Mama died when I was so young–well, Daddy’d to do what he could with me,” the young woman told him. “If that meant homeschooling me in a sleeper after cutting my teeth on his gear-shifter, then that’s what he’d to do since it wasn’t like he could afford a nanny back then.”

“Prolly better that he took ya with him,” Richie admitted. “At leastcha were around what lil family ya actually had.”

“Well, that and ’cuz if _he_ died over the side of a Cliff, he wouldn’t leave me since I’d likely die in any such wreck with him,” she chuckled.

“Morbid way of looking at it, but yeah–at least you’d die together,” the virtuoso agreed.

Marina nodded her agreement, still making no move to pull her hand outta his as she said that that was exactly why she’d grown up in what she called a barn yard. Since her father’d no one else he could leave her with except his bosses–and later the dispatchers that worked for him–he took her with him. He was always assured of her safety, and she learned a lotta shit that most kids–girls and boys alike–usually didn’t learn till they were grown, if they were lucky.

The young woman’d been speaking fluent CB slang since she was in the single-digits, which was something that not many could say. But one of her biggest achievements since things were done differently till the early-to-mid-eighties was that she’d at least been half-driving rigs since she was ten. At that age, she wasn’t tall enough to do it on her own, but that didn’t stop her father from letting her sit in his lap and have Control of the wheel and everything else on the steering column, even the CB. Said father was in Control of the pedals and gear-shifter during that Time, but it certainly gave her a head-start on handling the Haul Road by herself.

“By the Time I was sixteen, I hadn’t just gotten my Class-C license–I blew every other fool in the DMV outta the Water on getting my CDL on the first try,” she snickered. “Hell, I pretty much yawned through the written test, but passed with flying Colors, and passed the driving test all but blindfolded.”

“Definitely not the kinda accomplishment I’d have expected at first glance,” the virtuoso chuckled. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious thatcha know what you’re doing, butcha look about my age.”

“Just turned twenty-three in March,” Marina told him.

“No shit? _I_ turned twenty-three in February,” he laughed. “But other than being a bit of an idiot savant with instruments, I can’t say I’ve been nearly as successful as you so far.”

“You’re already doing better than me in that department,” the young woman admitted. “Daddy managed to teach me how to play _Groovy Grubworm,_ and I taught myself how to sing my ass off, but that’s about as far as my musical abilities go.”

“Kinda like you’re doing far better than me with a rig,” Richie reiterated. “I mean, I could prolly get it cranked up, barring anything but extreme cold, but I doubt I could do much else with it without possibly wrecking the transmission at the very least.”

“It’s really not that hard,” she told him. “It’s almost the same as driving any other passenger car with a clutch.”

The virtuoso was surprised when she said that the only real differences was the pressure behind said clutch. It was thirty-five pounds of Air resistance behind a big rig clutch compared to five pounds of hydraulic resistance behind a car’s clutch. A big rig also started to take off on its own once it was in gear and the clutch was let out, whereas a car or pickup truck didn’t do that kinda thing. Other than that, the biggest difference was that one’d to change gears quicker than in one of those smaller vehicles.

Marina chuckled as she said that in one of those smaller vehicles, he’d be in _Second_ or _Third_ gear by the Time he hit twenty miles an hour, depending on how many gears he’d to play around with. By the Time he hit the same speed in this joker, he’d already be in at least _Fourth_ or _Fifth_ gear and only climbing from there. Each rig’d its own differences, depending on its transmission and number of gears, just like any car or pickup did.

Not long after they’d started chatting again, she was forced to take her hand back as she saw Jack throw on a turn signal. Considering that it’d been another hour since they’d accidentally woke Richie up, she was pretty sure they were closing in on their destination. She was more than a lil glad, even though they’d been on the road for only about three hours, but she didn’t exactly wanna scare her passenger by saying anything. If driving such a thing weren’t second Nature to her and something she could do in her sleep, she’d have missed and prolly ground several gears by now, and it was only gonna get worse.

“Rina, are ya all right?” he asked, sounding worried as he glanced over at her.

“You’re ’bout to get a crash course,” Marina said, her words slurring a bit.

The virtuoso’s pulse ratcheted up as she barely managed to unbuckle her seat belt, her knees nearly buckling under her when she rose slightly.

“Follow Jack enough to at least _start_ the turn into the parking lot,” she told him, managing to move enough to let him into the driver’s seat behind her. “I’ma try to keep an eye on the mirrors, but I’m not promising shit for right now.”

“You’re outta your mind!” Richie protested.

“Can’t leave her in the street for Jack to get over here,” the young woman told him. “But I’ve about five minutes before I’m going down harder than this.”

Beyond terrified, but not seeing how he’d any other options, he slipped into the seat behind her so that she was settled between his legs. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t surprised by just how hard it wasta get the clutch in, even though she’d already told him the difference between it and that of something like his car. Course, what mattered was that he was able to do it and get the transmission into _First,_ which allowed the rig to start moving after she’d disengaged the brakes and let out said clutch again.

Despite her vision being blurry as hell, Marina managed to keep an eye on the mirrors like she’d said she would. Telling him to swing the nose out as far as he could to the left before cutting that right-hand turn into the parking lot, she didn’t care if he’d to use the entire entrance. Hell, for all she cared, he could run over the bordering landscaping or even tear up another car, ’cuz she was willing to pay for it outta her own pocket.

Richie still tried to be as careful as he could as he more or less let the rig just pull itself up next to the bus, glad the trailer slowly straightened out on its own. It was then that he reached over to reverse what he’d watched the young woman do so he could engage the brakes, the clutched stomped to the floor as he pulled the gear-shifter into _Neutral_ since they were on flat ground. Now, it was Time to turn his attention to her and whatever was obviously wrong with her since she seemed like she was about to pass out. That even required getting any necessary medical help, depending on what was going on that’d put her in this condition.

“Just grab my beef jerky,” she told him as he slid out from behind her.

“What good’s that gonna do?” the virtuoso asked, even as he moved back to the sleeper.

“Hypoglycemic,” Marina managed to mumble.

He started rooting through her shit even faster, but wasn’t quite quick enough to avoid having her pass out on him. “Fuck!”

Knowing Time was of the Essence, Richie didn’t bother trying to grab shoes or anything before flinging open the passenger’s door of the rig. All he attempted to do was avoid slipping so the catwalk wouldn’t rip a chunk outta his leg or anything before he tore around the other side of the bus. It was there that he started pounding on the door, uncaring of whether he woke the rest of his band up or not. They’d pretty much kept him up for two weeks straight, and besides, this was definitely an emergency since the young woman’s Life could be on the line.

“Richie, what on Earth’s going on?” Jack asked, having opened the door.

“Rina needs some serious help,” the virtuoso answered. “Dunno what it means, but the last word she got out before she _passed_ out was _hypoglycemic.”_

“Shit!” He turned to bolt onto the bus. “This is a problem for Bret to handle once I drag him outta his bunk!”

“Do I even wanna know how bad it is?” Richie asked, now even more terrified.

“Means her sugar dropped,” the bus driver answered, already slamming his way into the bunk room. “Bret, get your ass up–we need your brains out here!”

“Go ’way, Jack,” the vocalist grumbled, rolling over as he ripped his curtain open.

“If I go away and leave ya alone, the tour’s off, knucklehead,” Jack snapped, quite literally dragging him outta his bunk. “We’re gonna be taking Rina home for her father to bury, if ya don’t get up from there.”

“Wait, what?” His eyes shot open as his words at least halfway registered.

“Richie says the last word she got out before she lost consciousness was _hypoglycemic,_ and I think we both know what that means,” the bus driver told him.

“Fuck–she’s either diabetic and it hit suddenly, or her sugar Naturally runs low all the Time,” Bret said, already digging through his bunk. “Where’s she at?”

“Driver’s seat of the rig,” Richie supplied. “Which barely made it into the parking lot, by the way.”

It appeared the shorter of the blondes wasn’t in a question-asking kinda mood as he gestured for him to lead the way. Nodding, he tore around the front End of the bus, the other pair hot on his heels as he quite literally skidded to a stop under the passenger’s door. Yanking the door open, he scrambled up into the passenger’s seat, quickly taking what his band mate held and scrambling into what was essentially the door of the sleeper so he could haul himself up. Jack brought up the rear, although he remained perched on the catwalk since there wasn’t quite enough room for so many bodies in the cab.

Right where he’d left her, Marina was limp in the driver’s seat, her head lolled onto her ample bosom from having passed out. Bret was gentle about lifting her head by her chin, which garnered him absolutely no response and caused him to make a bit of a snap decision. He didn’t exactly have any Time to waste as he snatched something back outta his youngest band mate’s hands and popped it open.

Luckily, since she was completely limp, prying the young woman’s jaw open wasn’t that hard, so he was able to slip what he’d dumped into his palm into her mouth. Using his hand to shove her chin up till her teeth clacked, he glanced up at the virtuoso, who still looked beyond terrified. Richie didn’t hesitate to swap with him so he was holding her mouth shut, his band mate setting up his glucometer to check her sugar so they’d know just how bad of shape she was in. Whatever reading they got’d determine whether they needed to call EMS or not, as would her regaining consciousness with a quickness. If they could get her to wake up soon, they could get more info outta her that’d help them make any such decision easier.

Marina whimpered and tried to jerk her hand away as the blonde pricked a fingertip, which made him smile as he managed to maintain his grip. He assured the virtuoso that her trying to jerk her hand away was a good thing, as was her throat starting to work a bit as she tried to swallow what was building up in her mouth. Still, he wasn’t gonna be satisfied till he actually checked her sugar, which was what he was working on doing at that very moment.

“Hopefully, it’s higher than thirty or forty-something,” Bret muttered, waiting for his glucometer to spit out its reading.

“Do I even wanna know how bad that is, if it’s not?” the virtuoso asked.

“Bad enough that we’re calling EMS, if it’s that low or lower,” he answered. “’Cuz that means she’s well on her way to having a seizure, which _isn’t_ something I can fix.”

“Fuck,” Richie hissed.

A beep caught their attention, and he couldn’t help holding his breath.

“Fifty-six,” the vocalist said, yanking out the used test strip. “Not where I’d like to see it, but no doubt higher than it was before.”

“High enough to snack.”

Even Jack jumped at suddenly hearing the young woman slur like she was drunk, or had just woken up–which she kinda had.

“Gimme mah jerky,” Marina grumbled, swatting at the virtuoso’s thigh.

Relieved to see her at least conscious, talking, and moving slightly, he was all too willing to Return to what he’d been doing when she’d passed out. Moments later, he was handing her a bag she’d stowed away with various other groceries she’d bought and hidden in one of the sleeper compartments. That was the kinda thing that pretty much every long-haul trucker did, so it was no doubt part of her typical Lifestyle.

The young woman weakly snatched the bag from him as he knelt down between the seats, even Bret watching her like a Hawk as she dug one of the pieces of dry meat out. He still wasn’t entirely sure what’d just happened, ’cuz while he’d seen his band mate have some problems with his sugar before, he’d never seen anything like this. Usually when the blonde’s sugar started dropping, there was some kinda warning that came well before him slurring and hitting the deck like that. Even if it wasn’t much, he’d usually show a symptom like having a hard Time concentrating, or at least getting a lil shaky.

As she let the vocalist check her sugar again after she’d snacked on a few pieces of her jerky, Marina started to explain what’d just happened. She wasn’t diabetic like the blonde was, but rather Naturally hypoglycemic, which meant she faced a totally different set of problems. Instead of having to work to keep her sugar down, she’d to work to keep it up, ’cuz her pancreas was essentially in constant overdrive instead of being almost or completely offline.

Richie realized that he was gonna have to start keeping a sharper eye on her, if he happened to be awake while they were rolling. When she admitted that she’d Intentionally hid how fast she was going downhill so she wouldn’t terrify him even worse, he realized that he was definitely gonna have to keep a sharper eye on her. Not only that, but he was gonna have to take some of his off-Time and figure out how to handle this rig better so that if this ever happened again, he’d be able to. Even if it was technically illegal for him to drive it on open roads since he didn’t have his CDL, he’d much rather take over long enough to shoulder it safely than to crash and go out in a blaze of Glory.


	5. Four

By the Time they’d finished off the American leg of the tour in Mountain View, California, Richie’d figured out enough so that the few Times his bunk mate’s sugar’d acted up again, he’d been able to shoulder the rig with relative ease. In fact, it’d made him decide that he wanted to at least try to get his CDL, which’d open up so many different avenues for him, should his Dreams for the Music industry not work out. As if that wasn’t reason enough, at least having a CDL permit’d allow him to drive from one venue to the next, not just long enough to shoulder the rig, if the need ever arose.

However, he wasn’t too sure he should actually go through with trying to do such a thing, considering that he wouldn’t have any way to actually get any experience that’d allow him to get his actual CDL. That was when Marina’d surprised him, a mischievous grin spreading across her face pretty quickly as her spur-of-the-moment idea took shape.

“Get your CDL permit down here in Cali since ya don’t have a Class-C Alaska license, and we can work somethin’ out with Daddy,” she told him.

“Are ya fuckin’ serious?” the virtuoso asked, his jaw dropping in shock.

“We can take a trip up to Alaska for ya to meet him–’cuz let’s face it, I know ya wanna, and he’s said he wantsta meet the guy that’s been keeping his baby girl from keeling over,” Marina laughed.

“But there’s only fifteen Days till we start the next leg of the tour,” he reminded her.

“Never said we were gonna be doing anything insane like runnin’ the Summer version of the Dalton,” the young woman retorted, that grin appearing again. “Although, we definitely _could_ –and it’d be a bit safer since you’d actually be able to tell where the damn road’s at.”

“I thoughtcha said that was a literal road of Ice, though,” Richie said, now looking confused.

“Mostly packed dirt, actually,” she chuckled. “There’s packed Snow and Ice during the Winter, but during the short Summers, it’s just the dirt.”

The virtuoso looked thoughtful as he pondered that.

“Easier to take ya out mud-boggin’ with a trailer outfitted with mud tires in the Summer since you’d be able to differentiate between road and ditch,” Marina explained. “During the Winter, it’s all white–ya almost can’t tell road from ditch without having been up and down the Haul Road a few Times.”

“So, me having a CDL–or even just the permit–from another State wouldn’t fuck me up in Alaska?” he asked with a hint of Anxiety coloring his voice.

The young woman waved off that concern, swearing that as long as it was legal and all his Ducks were in a row, as it were, Kyle Dixon’d work with him. After all, this wasn’t the first Time he’d hired an outta-Stater for a Season so they’d have that many more driversta haul loads with. His concern was that everything was legal and squared away before a potential hire ever came to his barn yard, ’cuz if there was even a single thing _off,_ he knew there’d prolly more _off_ thingsta follow.

Giving it a few moments’ Thought, Richie eventually nodded and said that it was worth a shot, if nothing else since it’d definitely be a new experience. Even if it didn’t do anything else for him, it’d open up the door to at least driving his own tour bus, if he were ever on a tour and his driver went down. Otherwise, it’d open up a door that’d otherwise remained closed, should he ever need to make a Change in career paths.

Marina couldn’t help a laugh as she patted his back, swearing that he wouldn’t be regretting this particular decision. If a Change in career paths was ever needed, the World would always see a need for truckers, just like it’d always see a need for cops and medical professionals. Everything else aside from maybe teachers and security personnel was up for debate, especially when it came to something like retail. No matter where he went, he’d pretty much always find a trucking company that needed folks who could keep a rig upright and on the road, even if that road was dirt.

Two Days after managing to snag his CDL permit on the first try, the unlikely-seeming pair walked outta FAI in Fairbanks. If there was one thing the young woman _hadn’t_ done, it was call her father for a pick-up from the airport, mostly so she could surprise him. She’d made no bones about possibly taking her Time to get back home, considering she wasn’t licensed to handle a rig somewhere like South America, which was where the tour was heading next. Another thing she hadn’t made any bones about was how interested in the young man at her side she was, although her father was the only one who knew about her interest.

But pulling up outside something that looked more like a Palace, considering it was just outside Fairbanks on the outskirts of a small Town called Fox, wasn’t what he expected. Given what he’d learned about this young woman over the last few months, he’d have expected a lil one- or two-bed cabin in the middle of the Woods somewhere, so he was definitely surprised.

Neither of them even got a chanceta grab their bags from the trunk of the cab she’d hailed outside the airport before a shriek rent the Air. Marina almost immediately went down with a laugh, a pair of bodies having tackled her like linebackers startling the young man at her side. Laughter from all three bodies rent the Air as she wrestled with whoever’d knocked her down, that laughter dying down as someone yelled a pair of names that weren’t hers.

“Get your butts back over here!” a man who appeared about five Years older than them called from the front porch.

“Let mah lil sugar britches up, y’all!” the older man who stepped out behind him laughed.

Richie’s eyes widened as he recognized the voice of Kyle Dixon, which told him the identity of at least one of the men he was looking at.

“Who ya got with ya, sugar britches?” he chuckled as he walked down.

“Daddy, I’ma set a Bear trap with ya, if ya keep on!” the young woman laughed, letting him haul her up. “And from what I’ve heard, you’ve talked to Richie a few Times.”

“Oh, ho?” Kyle turned his attention to him. “How on Earth did she getcha up to Alaska?”

“Pure dumb Luck, I’d say,” he chuckled, extending his hand. “But yeah, we’ve talked a few Times, the first being after she went down in the rig as we were pulling into Minneapolis.”

“Ah, the Night ya got your crash course,” the older man laughed, giving him a good, hard handshake.

“Wait, what?” This was asked by the man who’d called the kids back up to the porch, who was now walking down to join them after sending the kids inside.

“This is one of my buddies and the one we call the _Haul Road Ace,_ Jason Jessee,” Marina said with a grin. “He’s basically the big brother I never had, and the one that always has my six up on the Haul Road.”

“A pleasure,” he said, extending his own hand.

“Likewise,” Richie agreed, purposely hiding the slight Jealousy flaring up.

“Jace, this is the guy I’ve been telling you and Daddy about, Richie Kotzen,” the young woman told him.

“I guess the only thing I’m surprised by is the long hair,” Jason chuckled. “Near ’bout as long as yours, girl.”

“So, I like my hair grown out and don’t look right when I scalp myself,” the virtuoso said. “I wouldn’t bite me, ’cuz I bite back–and hard.”

“Them’s fightin’ words, boy,” he laughed. “But you’ll fit right in up here with that kinda Spirit, if ya Intend to stay long-term.”

“Well, not at first,” Marina spoke up. “He’s fifteen Days till he’s to be in South America since his band’s just taking a break between tour legs.”

“Just didn’t feel like going back home, son?” her father asked.

The virtuoso felt his face heat up a bit as he shook his head, his hands rising to tie his hair back since it was actually warmer than he’d expected. It had to’ve been closer to the seventy or eighty degrees he was used to outta So Cal, not the sixty-something she swore it usually was in the Spring. Course, she’d also specified that temperature being closer to normal during May as compared to July, which was basically the heart of Summer for this area. This was the warmest it was gonna be all Year, ’cuz it’d swiftly drop back down into the thirties for a daily high by October.

As she started grabbing their bags so they could settle their fare and get inside, the young woman explained what their Intent was. The men who’d essentially served as a greeting party for them were surprised when they found out this young Buck was Intent on getting his CDL, if only so he’d be legal to drive his tour bus, should the need ever arise. He just didn’t seem like the kinda guy who’d wanna do such a thing for any reason, but they knew that appearances could certainly be deceiving.

Walking into the house, which allowed a torrent of gigglesta waft outta the living room on the back side of the house to their ears, Marina continued the explanation. Her father was all too happy to agree to basically taking him mud-boggin’ since there was actually a light load that needed to get up to Prudhoe within a couple Days. It wasn’t anything fancy–really just a pile of lumber that they needed–but it’d certainly be a chanceta show the young Buck a lil of what he was in for. Maybe seeing the Insanity of a couple stretches like the ones known as the _Rollercoaster_ and the _Beaver Slide_ would have him Changing his mind. Only Time and a couple runs up the Dalton’d tell whether that’d be the case or not, so they’d have to wait and see on that one.

“Might Change my mind on actually becoming a trucker, sure, but not on getting my CDL,” Richie chuckled. “Not everywhere’s as crazy as some of the stories she’s told us about whatcha call the _Haul Road.”_

“That’s definitely true,” her father agreed, nodding. “I’ve driven damn near every State in existence, especially up and down the Pacific Coast, and I know the landscape can Change drastically from one area to another.”

“Got that right,” Jason agreed. “I’m from Virginia, and while a lotta the landscape’s similar in the Appalachians, we get a lot more Snow and Ice up here.”

“I thought your accents sounded similar,” the virtuoso mused. “But ask Rina–I don’t tend to ask questions when I feel like I’ma step on toes too much.”

“He really doesn’t,” she said with a chuckle of her own as she rubbed his back. “I could tell he wanted to know why I never talked about Mama, but refused to actually ask me, which was why I decided to tell him.”

“Not something either of us do easily, son,” Kyle told him, a bit of a hard look settling over his eyes. “Especially me since I’m the one that’d to shoot that damn Wolf, then couldn’t save my own wife.”

“Daddy,” Marina scolded him, a warning note in her voice. “We’ve been over this before. Mama’s Death was a noble one, ’cuz it was me or her–there were no other choices.”

“Personally–and I’m speaking hypothetically here–if it were me and I’d to choose between saving my own skin or dying for my baby, I’d die for my baby every Time,” Richie admitted.

“He keeps saying shit like that, and I might not let him leave,” her friend said, his tone almost too serious for his liking. “God knows if she’d lemme do it, I couldn’t pick a better man for Rina to at least be friends with.”

“Watch it, Jace, or I’ll run ya over with your own rig,” the young woman warned him.

All of them cracked up at that, if only ’cuz they knew damn good and well she was fully capable of such a thing. However, it made the virtuoso feel a lil bit better about being in the company of these men when he heard her friend say that. Maybe they wouldn’t accept him as a trucker–he’d have to prove himself to them, after all–but that didn’t seem to stop them from accepting him in other ways.

While Marina moved to get started on dinner for everybody, Kyle and Jason all but dragged the newcomer out to the back deck by his hair. She wasn’t worried about him being left alone with them, ’cuz she knew what both’d be likely to say to him. No doubt they’d warn him that if he’d any Intentions of going beyond friendly with her, he’d best not fuck up in the slightest way, or he’d risk being bait for a Bear trap. Other than that, the only things they could possibly have to warn him about was mostly shit he already knew, like her being a _take-no-shit_ kinda girl, as he’d put it a few months ago.

* * *

“So, what exactly madeja decide to get your CDL?”

Richie locked eyes with Jason, one pair of blue eyes staring into the other as they gauged the other pair’s owner carefully. He fully Intended to be honest with these men, but he didn’t wanna essentially trip over his own tongue as he did so. Once he said something, there was no taking it back and having a do-over, so he decided to choose his words as carefully as he regarded this other man.

“To be quite honest, Rina scaring the shit outta me that Night in Minneapolis,” he admitted with a sigh.

“Lemme guess–her sugar dropped outta nowhere, didn’t it?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah, it did,” the virtuoso answered, nodding. “Luckily, one of my band mates is diabetic, so he sometimes suffers from hypoglycemia, if he fucks up on his insulin dosage or something along those lines.”

“Means you’d someone on hand that could at least start triage, then,” he mused with an approving Return nod.

“Prolly woulda wound up bringing her home to be buried, if Bret _wasn’t_ diabetic,” Richie admitted. “She didn’t get a chanceta tell me what was wrong with her before she passed out.”

“Damn girl–I keep tellin’ her to quit hidin’ that shit from folks,” Jason grumbled. “Especially when she’s gonna be behind the wheel.”

“Well, she managed to get us at least within spitting distance of the parking lot we were shooting for, I’ll give her that,” he told them. “But basically having to get the rig _into_ said parking lot with her really only able to watch the mirrors–yeah, that made me do some serious thinking.”

_“Ahhhh,_ now we see why you’d wanna get your CDL,” her father chuckled. “Better to be safe than sorry, especially if you’re riding along with a hypoglycemic driver like her.”

“I guess I’m just curious as to how ya wound up in the rig with her,” Jason mused.

Unable to help a chuckle, Richie’d absolutely no shame in explaining how his band had kept him up more or less constantly for two weeks straight with their partying. Having grown sick of it, working out his own plan to get some sleep with the young woman’d put him in just the right place at just the right Time, as far as her Health was concerned. Once assured she was gonna be all right and able to continue the tour with them, that week-long agreement’d turned into one that lasted till this particular tour leg’d Ended. If she’d pulled over and dumped him on the side of the road, he wouldn’t have cared since he’d enjoyed getting to ride with her.

If being in the right place at the right Time to help her with a Health problem caused the opening of a door that otherwise woulda stayed shut–well, the virtuoso certainly couldn’t complain about that. At least he’d something to do with himself, if his Music career didn’t work out the way he wanted it to in the End. Having a backup plan certainly never hurt anyone, and it seemed that both these men agreed with that line of thinking.

Kyle said that he was more than willing to let him ride along with his daughter for a run to see how the Dalton really was, even in the Summer. Once he’d gotten through the five-hundred-mile ride-along, she’d give him a call and let him know if she thought the conditions were good enough to let him put that CDL permit to use on the trip back. If the conditions were good enough that she thought he could actually make it without Destroying the rig, she’d take the passenger’s seat for the first Time in Years as his trainer.

“Fair enough,” Richie agreed. “Never gonna get any experience any other way, but I getcha with not wanting expensive things torn up.”

“I’d ask how ya could possibly compare, but something tells me I’d more or less get my nuts ripped off and handed to me,” her friend chuckled.

“Well, my gear’s not cheap,” the virtuoso told them. “As a professional musician–I mean, having a few solo albums out in addition to the one I did with my current band–I don’t use rinky-dink gear that’ll fall apart and blow up the first Time I play it.”

“So, we’re basically talking the difference between a pawn shop instrument and a Les Paul?” Jason asked, cocking a brow curiously.

“Custom _Telecaster,_ actually,” he corrected him with a chuckle of his own. “But yeah, pretty much. The level of quality’s a helluva lot higher, so it takes a lot more money–sometimes a couple sponsors–to even get my hands on gear like that.”

“Means you’ve a better appreciation for it than some Beginner who doesn’t understand the value of a dollar, son,” Kyle laughed. “Which’s the kinda attitude I want outta anyone that gets behind the wheel of _my_ rigs.”

“Well, ya definitely don’t have to worry about not getting that kinda attitude outta me,” Richie assured him.

“Then I better not have to worry aboutcha not giving my daughter the same kinda appreciation,” he said. “’Cuz friends, lovers, or foes, she deserves better than a guy who thinks she’s nothin’ but a piece of meat.”

The virtuoso couldn’t help how his face heated up again, much to Jason’s obvious amusement, but he was still quick to assure him that he’d nothing to worry about there, either. He wouldn’t deny that he was attracted to Marina, and for far more than just her body–she’d a vitality and level of Intelligence that wasn’t often seen in women, especially in the Lower Forty-Eight. She’d so many hidden facets that needed to be cleaned and polished till they shined that she was the perfect kinda Mystery and challenge for him. But at the same Time, he didn’t think he’d ever get her entirely figured out, even if he’d a Lifetime to spend with her.

Both men before him listened Intently as Richie said that if he’d really wanted to step on toes and makes moves on her when she didn’t want him to, he’d the perfect opportunity over the last couple months. Only the two of them and his manager knew he’d been riding with her, so he coulda easily waited till they were parked to go after anything sexual, and nobody woulda known if he’d gone so far as to rape her till they found him dead. Well, that was assuming that he was ever found at all, considering she’d made no bones about how easy it’d be to dump him in a ditch somewhere, or simply haul him up to Alaska to quite literally throw to the Wolves so his remains’d never be found.

Kyle found that he liked this young Buck more and more, the more he actually talked to them for seeming like such a quiet, reserved kinda guy more often than he wasn’t. Course, having talked to him on the phone a few Times over the last couple months prolly had him a bit biased, but he didn’t care. What mattered to him was that–young, horny man though he obviously was–he’d a healthy respect for women at the End of the Day.

It wasn’t long before Marina was calling them back in to eat, knowing that the virtuoso was no doubt as hungry as she was after their flight up from Los Angeles. Jason’s kids–who were finally introduced as Amanda and Evan–were already settled at the dining room table with their food. All three menfolk were quick to join them, even Richie at least smiling his praiseta the chef once they started digging in. Something told him that this was gonna be an interesting couple weeks, but an experience he’d never forget in five Lifetimes, for sure.


	6. Five

Just the Day after arriving in Alaska, Richie found himself arriving in the yard of Native Enterprises, the trucking company owned by Kyle Dixon. According to the young woman he was riding along with, he’d chosen that name for his company for one big reason. There was a lotta Native blood in their veins since Kyle was half-Cherokee and at least a quarter Shawnee, but they also made deliveriesta a lotta Native communities up here. One such community was Nuiqsut, which was out across the Coleville River delta West of Prudhoe Bay, which was the last place in Northern Alaska before one went straight into the Arctic Ocean.

Following Marina into dispatch for her paperwork, he wasn’t too sure what to expect since this was his first Time here–and just this far North, in general. The folks at this company were practically her family, based on what she’d said about her father having practically raised her in this building, its yard, and his rig. He was just an outsider who’d have to struggle to fit in at first, assuming he ever truly fit in with this group at all.

“Morn, Marina!” the guy sitting behind the desk said, actually getting up to round it and grab her for a Bear-hug.

“Need…Air!” she laughed, even as she Returned the hug.

“Good to finally have ya back,” he chuckled as he let her go. “These jack-wagons ’round here need their reigning Queen to whip them back into shape!”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Marina agreed. “Lemme take a couple Days off for food poisoning, and they start losing their shit–I can only imagine how it’s been for the last couple _months,_ Dale.”

“So, who ya got with ya this Morn?” the guy–whose name was apparently Dale–asked curiously.

“This is one of the band members I was hauling for, Richie,” the young woman answered. “Ride-along for today, but depending on the conditions, he might be the one grinding Daddy’s gears.”

“Wait, what?” He looked surprised.

“Already okay’d it, Dale.”

Turning, they saw Kyle walking outta his office with a grin on his face.

“She scared the shit outta the kid, so he decided he wanted to get his CDL, just in case something like that ever happened again,” the older man explained.

“And if he can prove to handle the Haul Road, even in the Summer, he can handle pretty much anything that gets thrown at him,” Dale mused, nodding as he got it.

“Bingo.” He Returned the nod. “Ya know Rina’s our top ball-buster and trainer, not to mention our top heavy-hauler for a reason.”

“Damn straight, bossman,” the dispatcher agreed. “Only one who even comes closeta matching her’s Jason, and even then, he’s _still_ not as good with some types of loads.”

“I resemble that remark!” Jason laughed as he walked into dispatch for his own load. “But to be honest, I think we’re about even, just with a gender difference.”

“Yeah, ’cuz I damn sure ain’t got a dick between my legs unless I’m gettin’ laid,” Marina said with a grin.

Even the virtuoso wasn’t immune to a chuckle at the very least, all of them knowing damn good and well she’d a point. But it was still clear that she could give as good as she could take, maybe even better, and that none of these guys were gonna get the best of her. Not even a new hire was gonna pull one over on her before she busted more than just their chops–she was gonna bust their balls and prolly both heads, too.

The young woman veritably squealed like a kid in a candy store when she was handed her load sheet, her bosom bouncing slightly as she bounced on her toes. Whatever that paperwork said had her excited, and that much was obviousta even Richie as he cocked a brow curiously. All he could think of was that she’d gotten one of her favorite types of loads or something, or she wouldn’t have reacted quite like that. However, he wasn’t expecting her to say that it wasn’t just lumber that was heading North on her trailer–it was a match book and a-half combined with a dually.

As they were heading out to the rig she normally used, she explained that such an amount of weight wouldn’t necessarily bog them down while they were on the Haul Road. Unless it was nothing but a giant mud puddle, that kinda weight’d allow them to find traction in places where it wasn’t easy to do such a thing. Granted, finding traction’d be easier than it’d be for most, ’cuz she and Jason were some pretty smart cookies by investing in custom tires for even their trailers that’d be better for this Season.

“Basically, they’re mud tires on steroids,” Marina told him as she unlocked her rig. “They’ll do the same thing as chaining up during the Winter.”

“Really?” he asked, looking curious as they loaded their belongings into the rig.

“Tire chains let the rubber dig into the Ice enough to get traction and take off,” the young woman explained as she settled in to fire up the monster.

“And mud tires’ll act the same way in soggy areas,” Richie mused as he settled in the passenger’s seat.

“Bingo.” She grinned as the rig roared to Life. “Hence why Jason and I picked our chosen rigs and customized ’em the way we wanted ’em.”

“I’m sure your dad doesn’t mind _you_ doing that kinda thing, but what about Jason?” the virtuoso asked.

“He’s his other top driver, so he lets him get away with a lil bit more than most drivers do,” Marina snickered. “As long as it’s legal and he stays within reason, Daddy’ll let him get away with it as much as he’ll let _me_ get away with something since he knows we can get the job done safely and in a Timely fashion.”

“All the other guys must be questionable, at best,” he chuckled.

“Depends on how long they’ve been here,” the young woman admitted, finally putting her rig in gear to go grab her trailer. “Jason and I’ve been here since we were sixteen, which means almost a decade.”

“I thought he looked about our age,” Richie said.

“Jason’s twenty-eight, so he’s a few Years on even me, as far as runnin’ the Haul Road solo goes,” she told him. “If they’ve even as much Time with Native as either of us separately, but especially combined, and just as many miles on the Haul Road, Daddy’s a lil more lax–new hires can forget anything but being put under a microscope, as it were.”

“Yay, guess that’s what _I’m_ in for,” the virtuoso chuckled. “Least I get some warning, though–I’m sure most hires up here don’t.”

Marina didn’t even try to deny that he was right about that as she got herself lined up with her trailer, then let the rig start pulling itself backward. The resulting jolt of hooking up never failed to startle him a bit, but he was sure he’d get used to it as Time passed. He’d no choice but to get used to it, if he ever decided to make a career Change and give up Music for trucking since _he’d_ be the one doing this kinda thing.

After engaging the brakes so the truck wouldn’t move, the young woman opened her door with a gesture for him to follow. Yet another part of the job was hooking up Air and Light lines so they’d have brakes, not to mention shit like taillights since it was illegal to run without such things. Not only that, but they’d to check the load, itself to make sure it was strapped down properly, not to mention Balanced. If it was too unbalanced, it could very well cause a wreck in even the best of conditions, were it to tip or slide, which could turn a rig on its side and/or drag it off the road.

Richie paid strict attention as she walked him through doing those very things, surprised when she dropped down and crawled under the tongue of the trailer. He was quick to join her when she yelled up at him, looking to where she was pointing almost dead in front of her. She said that the trailer’s kingpin’d to be clasped by the jaws of the fifth wheel, or they’d wind up losing the trailer and ripping lines loose as they pulled away, which could cause major damage to a load.

Another thing she’d to show him was how to inflate the Air bags that served as suspension back here, considering this load was decently heavy. It was causing the trailer to sit a lil too low for her liking, which meant it’d be rubbing both sets of duals on either side of the rig’s back End. Letting a trailer rub tires like that’d result in blown tires, and if that happened while they were going down the road–well, she’d seen such an occurrence cause more than one wreck. That was generally a move only rookies made, though, ’cuz most of the guys’d to make that mistake only once before they learned their lesson. Course, that was assuming they got into a wreck at all, but more importantly, survived any such wrecks they got into.

“There’s definitely a lot to learn, I’ll give ya that,” he chuckled as they settled back in the rig once she was satisfied that they were good to go.

“Just like there’d be a metric fuck-ton for _me_ to learn about instruments and playing,” Marina laughed. “’Cuz I might be able to figure out how to run a few scales on my own, but I’d have to be shown how to do shit like change strings and rebuild a guitar from scratch.”

“Changing strings isn’t that hard,” the virtuoso told her. “The hardest part of that’s getting them locked into the bridge, then wound up around the tuning keys before ya cut off the excess.”

“Doesn’t sound that hard, but I betcha doing it’d make me eat a mouthful of crow,” she retorted with a grin.

“Maybe, but then again, ya might be a Natural at it,” Richie said. “Just like I was with learning how to get one of these bad boys in motion.”

“That was when an eighteen-speed, though,” the young woman reminded him. “Split ten-speeds like this one’re totally different.”

He turned his attention to watching what she did, surprised when she pulled a tiny lever up with her middle finger right before she went to head into _Sixth_. What really surprised him was that she shoved the gear-shifter back into what appeared to be _First,_ which confused him for a few moments. But she apparently saw the look that crossed his face at least outta the corner of her eye, which made her laugh as she kept that lever pulled up while shoving the gear-shifter into what appeared to be _Second_.

Marina explained that when she said this was a split transmission, that meant it’d a high side and a low side to play around with. The low side was for _First_ through _Fifth,_ the high side for _Sixth_ through _Tenth_ –using that splitter lever on the front of the gear-shifter was what allowed her to change which side of the transmission she was working with. While it might _look_ like she was shoving it back into _First,_ using that splitter sent the transmission into its high side, and therefore allowed her to shift into _Sixth_ gear. If she didn’t pull that splitter up, she could tear up her transmission, ’cuz she really _would_ shift into _First_ without meaning to.

Hearing that explanation certainly made sense, ’cuz he’d seen the top of the gear-shifter already and couldn’t make any sense of it. Seeing what appeared to be one-sixth and so on written out’d thrown him for a loop, as far as gear positions went, since it’d seemed similar to his own car, yet completely different. It’d no doubt take watching her the entire trip up to Prudhoe at the very least to get that to sink into his memory and stick there, but he was sure he’d get it down eventually. But till he _did_ get it down–well, that was why he was being trained, even though he’d no doubt still grind a few gears till he got his Timing down.

_“We ready to get outta here, Rebel?”_

“That’s a big ten-four, Ace,” Marina laughed after grabbing the mic for her CB.

_“Then let’s git, girl,”_ the other trucker said. _“Ladies and newbies first.”_

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” she told him, half-sing-songing what she said before throwing her monster in gear.

_“A lil_ too _sweet for you, apparently,”_ Jason chuckled.

“Sweet enough to cause cavities,” the young woman retorted. “And I really don’t want anymore of those–fuckin’ hurtsta get ’em filled later!”

_“That’s an even bigger ten-four, Rebel!”_ he agreed with a laugh.

“Now, ten-seven so I can ten-ten on the side and get us outta here!” Marina told him, reaching up to hang her mic back up.

All they heard in response was another laugh before the other trucker apparently followed her lead so he could focus on getting his own rig into motion behind hers. Richie couldn’t help but be more confused than he wasn’t by what was obviously CB slang, considering that he hadn’t heard her use very many phrases that’d actually stuck so far. Course, he was at least intelligent enough to wait for a better moment to ask what the hell she’d meant, which meant he waited till they got outta town.

It turned out that _ten-seven_ meant a CB user was signing off, while _ten-ten_ meant they weren’t actually saying anything, but still listening. _Ten-ten on the side_ was basically CB slang for that latter meaning in a lot fewer words, which was a good thing with so many other aspectsta focus on all at once. Considering how many Times she’d to shift gears through the narrow streets of Fairbanks, not playing on the CB was a good idea.

Eighty-three miles North of Fairbanks, they finally hit the Beginning of the infamous Dalton Highway, which pretty much everyone up here knew as the _Haul Road_. The road they’d been on previousta this–the Elliott Highway–was paved for all but the last eighty miles of its route from Fox to a Town called Manley Hot Springs. But once they made that turn onto the Haul Road, that was when things really started to heat up, so to speak. Tires bumped off pavement as Marina made the turn onto that infamously deadly highway, Jason following hot on her bumper as closely as he dared. Neither of them could help an _Oof!_ from the bump, the young woman recovering quicker than her passenger trainee did by at least a couple seconds.

Richie wouldn’t deny being at least a lil scared at this point, even if it wasn’t nearly as dangerous as it’d be during the Winter months. Other than staying close enough to be in CB range of the trucker behind them–or anyone else who happened along–there was no way to call for help, if they needed it. They were completely on their own and pretty much in what most’d call _No Man’s Land,_ these rigs their only way out. He supposed it’d be terrifying for just about anyone, but he was the one who’d agreed to this, so he’d to just ride it out–literally.


	7. Six

By the Time they rolled into the Native yard in Prudhoe Bay, Marina knew that the young man at her side now possessed a healthy respect for the Haul Road. Even if the only thing he truly respected now was having strong pelvic muscles that kept him from pissing himself with every bump and his head still being intact, it was still a respect for this route, all the same. All in all, he hadn’t seemed to do too badly, and he’d paid closer attention than any other trainee she’d ever overseen on their ride-along and maiden run.

Since the road conditions weren’t too bad aside from bumpy as hell and the Weather didn’t Change quite as quickly as during the Winter, she easily made her final decision. Richie was gonna get his first taste of the Haul Road as a driver on their way back to Fairbanks, as long as he proved to be able to handle it twice as well. That meant everything from hooking up to his load–which was called a back-haul since it was being taken on the Return trip–to actually driving the route. He’d never get the experience he needed to actually get his CDL any other way besides jumping in to do it, and she knew it.

In the dispatch office, the dispatcher in charge of the Prudhoe terminal–a guy by the name of Alan–tried to give them a lil bit of hassle over what the young woman told him. But rather than catching too much of an attitude or threatening to tattle on him to Daddy, she just shot him one of her bemused looks and told him to call the Fairbanks office, himself.

“You’re serious, Dale?” he asked, his jaw dropping.

 _“I most certainly am,”_ Dale answered with a chuckle from where he’d put the phone on speaker like he would in a conference call. _“I was just as surprised when she said he’d okay’d it till he walked outta his office and told me he did, himself.”_

“He’s fuckin’ nuts for okay’ing such a thing,” the Prudhoe dispatcher said.

 _“Well, look at it this way, man,”_ he told him. _“At least he’s not turning somebody fresh outta trucking school with absolutely_ no _experience loose up there during the Winter.”_

“Yeah, point taken,” Alan agreed. “At least there’s a fuck-load better visibility up here this Time of Year.”

 _“Besides, we’ve both known Marina since she was teething on Kyle’s gear-shifter,”_ the Fairbanks dispatcher continued. _“If she feels like she needsta, she’ll take over and get them back down here before she lets him run them over a Cliff or something.”_

“Damn straight, I will,” Marina chuckled. “’Cuz if I’d a Death Wish, I wouldn’t have listened to a word Daddy’s said all these Years about truckin’ up here.”

“Guess I got no choice but to trust at least Kyle’s judgment, then,” Dale sighed.

“If you’re talkin’ about with Richie drivin’, do it.”

Turning slightly, they saw that Jason’d walked in to grab his own back-haul paperwork.

“Talked about it with him before Rina ever took him to the Fairbanks yard, and Big Daddy’s about as sure in his decision as he gets,” the other trucker said, looking at the dispatcher as he nabbed said paperwork. “He was kinda worried about it, or he wouldn’t have been bouncing the idea off me after Rina laid it out.”

“All right, all right,” he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I got three different folks swearing that Kyle gave the green Light, so I damn well can’t argue–not when two of them’re Native’s top drivers.”

Marina couldn’t help a bit of a smug smile, which just made her friend and fellow trucker laugh as he gently squeezed the newbie’s shoulder. Still looking at the obviously-wary dispatcher, he assured him that that was part of the reason why he’d been assigned to a convoy with these two on the way up here. Part of it for her Health, should her hypoglycemia start acting up, but another part of it was so she’d have help wrangling her trainee and troubleshooting any problems they ran into, if they needed it.

Richie couldn’t help rolling his eyes as they finally nabbed their paperwork so they could head back out to the yard, where he wondered just how on Earth they were gonna do this part. He’d absolutely no experience with hitching up a trailer to even a pickup truck, so this was gonna be pretty hard for him, no matter what he did. Whether he did everything right or not, it was no doubt to take him longer than it’d take the young woman with him, or even Jason in the next rig over. After all, they both had over a decade of experience since they’d damn near been doing this since they were in diapers. Even one of them’d be able to do this part, not to mention hooking up the lines, in mere seconds compared to how long he was bound to take.

In her rig, the young woman waited till he was in the driver’s seat, then plopped down so she was settled between his legs like the Night she’d scared him shitless. She told him that as long as he kept his entire body angled more or less the same way hers was, he’d be able to see just fine once he readjusted the mirrors. As long as he paid attention and listened to her, she’d help get him hooked up since this was his first Time ever.

Nodding, the virtuoso let her help him readjust those mirrors and get himself lined up so he could start backing under the tongue of the trailer. Once he was lined up so he was dead-on, she told him to just let the rig do the work by pulling itself backward, rather than trying to gun it like she was known for doing. Till he got the hang of hooking up, she didn’t want him hitting the throttle so hard, he made the kingpin jump the fifth wheel entirely. Such a thing _could_ happen, if a trucker was inexperienced or otherwise not paying attention, ’cuz even she’d done it when she was younger.

“I ain’t saying that it can’t be corrected so ya can try again–it’s just a bitch,” Marina chuckled.

“Well, I don’t imagine it’s very easy to get that fifth wheel back under the kingpin from the wrong Direction,” he retorted with a chuckle of his own.

“Usually takes a forklift unless you’ve some seriously high landing gear once it’s down and cranked out all the way,” the young woman admitted.

“Yeah, let’s _not_ do that, if we can help it,” Richie said. “’Cuz that’s gonna make me look like a dumbass–even though I kinda _am_ with this shit–on top of wasting Time and possibly breaking something.”

“Hence why I’m making ya do it with me in your lap,” she snickered.

“Might not be the easiest to move right now, but better than other options,” the virtuoso agreed, proving his point by squirming enough to stomp the clutch.

Moving to change gears and get the rig backed under the trailer’s tongue actually wasn’t as hard as he let her think it was. If anything, it was a bit distracting and kinda annoying since her lower back was pressed right against his crotch due to their position. Since it’d been quite a while since he’d gotten laid–mostly ’cuz he was so interested in here that even groupies weren’t appealing–he was particularly sensitive at the moment. But he didn’t let something Marina couldn’t help distract him too much since she was just trying to help him in a different way right now.

Getting the trailer hooked up actually didn’t take as long as he’d anticipated, and Richie was more than a lil thankful for that. Back in the rig once they’d gotten hooked up, he was just ready to get back to Fairbanks so they could either get another load, or head back to the young woman’s houseta relax for a while. This was supposed to be his Time off so he could unwind and recharge, after all–he was just doing this ’cuz he wanted to.

After a week of trucking back and forth along the Haul Road, the virtuoso was finally able to relax and unwind a bit before he’d to hit the road for his tour again. He’d learned quite a bit over the last week, but he was glad to be able to just laze around till he’d to be on the move again. Even though he didn’t have nearly enough experienceta go get his full-fledged CDL, he was certainly a step closer to it now.

However, there was another Change to his Life that’d taken place besides just having his CDL permit and working toward more than that. The handful of trips up to Prudhoe and back’d made him realize that if he didn’t get at least a lil pushy–albeit in a respectful way–he was gonna lose something good and big. Even though it appeared that Marina wasn’t the least bit interested in her friend’s slight flirting, he knew that she wouldn’t stay a single woman forever. Maybe it wouldn’t be her friend and fellow trucker that she wound up with, but the fact remained that if he didn’t make his move, _he_ wouldn’t be the man she _did_ wind up with.

But hearing her laugh and say that she’d been wondering when he’d finally ask her out’d made his eyes widen in surprise as he processed those words. Then again, he certainly hadn’t expected her to lean in and give him a quick, but chaste kiss, which certainly stirred up a couple different things. Finding himself in her bed for something other than sleep, considering she hadn’t forced him to sleep in one of the basement bedrooms, was definitely a surprise, but not an unwelcome one.

“I Wish ya could come with me,” the virtuoso sighed as she cuddled on her couch.

“I know, but I need a lil more Time back home,” Marina told him. “Besides, I ain’t sure I can take the heat and humidity of South America since I’ma Native Alaskan.”

“Hey, just ’cuz I wantcha with me doesn’t mean ya need to be putting yourself at risk,” he said, pulling back enough to give a bit of a hard look. “Ya do that enough by being a hypoglycemic trucker, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Doesn’t mean it stops me from doing what I love, though,” the young woman pointed out. “So, I ain’t saying that me joining ya at some point won’t happen at all–just prolly not immediately.”

“I can live with ya not joining me at all, if it means I’ve a girlfriend to still come back home to,” Richie chuckled.

“Long as _I’ve_ still got a boyfriend comin’ home to me, I can live with that, too,” she all but purred.

That purr as answered by a specific growl that she recognized all too well, and not just ’cuz she’d already heard it from him a few Times. It seemed that every guy she ever got involved with let out that growl when they were in a certain mood, especially if they’d already been deprived. Considering that he hadn’t gotten laid once in the couple months they’d been on tour together that she knew of, Marina knew that he was definitely deprived and working on catching up. Even though another week off the road and spent in Alaska with her undoubtedly wouldn’t be enough, it’d at least be a start for both of them.

Before long, they were headed up to her bedroom so they could have some privacy, considering Kyle was no doubt to bring Amanda and Evan back home soon. While they loved staying at the barn yard quite a bit, they were still a bit too young to wanna stay there the entire Day, if they didn’t have to. Neither of the new couple wanted them walking in on them making out on the couch, which meant taking it up- or downstairs.

Richie hummed contently as they simply cuddled in bed once they’d both reached their Blissful peaks, a slight smile on his face. He was enjoying feeling the young woman he could now solidly call his girlfriend pressed against his side, her leg draped over his waist. Part of him almost didn’t wanna head back South to rejoin his tour, but at the same Time, he loved his current career too much to just ditch his band like that. Maybe things’d actually work out with that, and they’d get to record and release another album together, but he wasn’t holding out too much Hope for such a thing. Those guys were a lot different than him, and he was surprised this album’d turned out half as well as it did.

Shoving those Thoughts outta his mind for the moment, the virtuoso sighed happily as he marginally tightened his grip on his girlfriend. Marina let out a soft happy noise of her own, which made him smile into the next kiss he gave her as he rubbed her back. He wasn’t necessarily looking for yet another round between the sheets, but he certainly wouldn’t turn it down, if it was offered. But the young woman seemed content with just enjoying his presence beside her, and he was content with that since he didn’t wanna hurt her.

This was already more than he’d been hoping for when they met, and he wasn’t in the business of pushing his Luck more than absolutely necessary.


	8. Seven

_November, 1993_

Getting through the latter half of the Summer and the Beginning half of Autumn without his girlfriend was definitely a bit more challenging than Richie’d thought it’d been when he’d flown from Fairbanksta somewhere in Chile. It’d been a good while since he’d been anything but a single guy chasing skirts, so to speak, but he hadn’t ever had quite as strong a connection with anyone else. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, as far as he was concerned–it just gave him a reason to wanna go home alive and in one piece.

However, there was a challenge on these next couple tour legs that he certainly hadn’t been expecting, and therefore wouldn’t have thought to plan for. Rikki’s _fiancé,_ Deanna, had wound up joining the tour on the South American leg supposedly to spend Time with her man since she hadn’t gotten to see him enough. But that quickly Changed as she started setting her sights on the younger brunette of the band like a hunter on a trail.

No matter how many Times he claimed that he wasn’t the slightest bit interested, the virtuoso couldn’t seem to get the drummer’s girl to lay off. And she seemed to be a master manipulator, so she was forever managing to get him alone and into some very questionable situations. He never failed to make it clear that he was uncomfortable with her presence, and damn sure didn’t want her so much as patting him on the back, but she never listened. In fact, there’d been one Time where they’d damn near been caught with her hand down the front of his britches, which he’d narrowly managed to avoid. He’d managed to jump back, smack her hand away from him, and get his fly closed again before there were any questionsta answer, but only barely.

It was starting to seem like Richie didn’t have anywhere he could turn to get outta trouble, no options open to him besides simply quitting the band and ditching the tour. Something’d to give and soon, ’cuz he was starting to turn into more than a lil bit of a nervous wreck from trying to avoid Deanna, but fulfill his obligationsta the band. He wasn’t too sure how much more he could take, but he doubted it was gonna take much more to finally send him over the edge. But being told as soon as he walked off the bus for Sound check at their stop somewhere in Colorado that he’d a surprise waiting in his dressing room set him off.

“Oh, hell fuckin’ no!” he snapped, back-pedalling straight into Bobby, whom he damn near knocked over.

“Jeez, kid,” the bassist grumbled, still a bit sleepy since they’d all just woken up. “The hell’s gotten into ya?”

At this point, he was already hyperventilating at the Thought of what could be waiting behind the door of his dressing room.

“Richie?” Even Bret was starting to get worried about him. “Man, what’s up with ya?”

Shaking his head, the virtuoso refused to get into it any more than he had in recent weeks, if only ’cuz he didn’t wanna drop such a bomb on Rikki with no warning.

“Richie, c’mon–you’ll like your surprise,” their manager sighed, gently grabbing his shoulder and steering him into the room.

Richie tried to fight him, but he wasn’t exactly thinking straight.

“Richie, love.”

That familiar voice started to cut through the freaked-out Fog clouding his brain, a pair of hands gently cupping his face finishing the job in seconds.

“Damn, love–I didn’t think it was this bad,” Marina sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He was quick to wrap his own arms around her, letting her presence ground him. “No more surprises like this.”

The young woman waved Howie off with a gesture to lock the door behind him, knowing full well that no one else knew what her boyfriend had been going through. He might not’ve been able to call her very much, but the few Times he _had_ –well, she hadn’t liked the reports she’d been getting. She was damn near ready to go on the Warpath when it came to this Deanna, whether the bitch was Rikki’s girl or not. As far as she was concerned, she’d been sexually assaulting and molesting her man for months, but like any typical guy, he hadn’t wanted to admit it and press charges.

Once the virtuoso’d finally Calmed down from the near-panic attack he’d sent himself into, she gently dragged him down onto the couch that was in the room. She gently cupped his face again, thoroughly gauging whether she should try kissing him at the moment, or if she should wait. He was quick to answer that unasked question for her by leaning in and capturing her lips with his own incredibly gently.

“I Wish I’d known ya were coming, just so I wouldn’t have freaked like that,” Richie sighed, resting his forehead against hers.

“If I’d known it was _this_ bad, I woulda warned at least Howie, if I didn’t let _you_ know,” the young woman told him. “But hon, ya gotta tell Rikki what’s going on–ya can’t keep living in Fear to the point you’re giving yourself panic attacks like that.”

“That’s the fuckin’ problem,” he grumbled. “As much as she makes sure she and I are alone for the stunts she pulls, she makes sure I can’t get _Rikki_ alone.”

_“Hmmm.”_ Marina wore a thoughtful look as she pulled back slightly. “Didn’tcha say Rikki’s the best hairstylist outta all of y’all?”

“Yeah, he is–they swear he and Bobby were both licensed cosmetologists at one point or another,” the virtuoso answered. “Why?”

“Call him in here, even if ya gotta tell him something stupid like ya need some split Ends trimmed,” Marina said. “Even if ya _do_ need to get an inch or two trimmed off to add to the cover story, ya can get him alone.”

“Been too frazzled to think of any good excuses like that,” he admitted, a slight blush staining his face as he chuckled.

“See, this is why ya need to talk to even me about this shit more,” the young woman laughed, quickly biting her tongue as he opened the door.

“Yo, Rik–get in here for a minute!” Richie called out so he could catch his drummer’s attention.

“Yeah, whatcha need? Besidesta get laid, that is,” he laughed in response.

“Need a few split Ends trimmed, and it’s not like I can pop my head off and set it on the counter to do it myself,” the virtuoso answered.

“On it, kid,” Rikki said, heaving himself up from his seat.

He waited patiently, a frown marring his face when Deanna tried to come with him. “Nuh, uh–my dressing room, my rules, and I say you’re not coming in here.”

The drummer looked more than a lil confused, but still managed to talk his _fiancé_ into waiting with the other half of their band backstage. He couldn’t have been more glad as he closed and locked the door, knowing damn good and well his band mate was confused now. Luckily, all was about be explained to him, even though he wasn’t gonna like any of it–but not before he got him to trim off a few split Ends just so he wouldn’t fuck up his hair, Intentionally or accidentally.

Once those split Ends were trimmed off, Richie took a deep breath and managed to grab the blonde’s arm before he could leave his dressing room. Part of him still didn’t wanna get into this shit, but there was another part that _did,_ if only so he could finally get it off his chest. Even if it wound up getting him kicked outta the band or something, even causing a Romantic breakup, maybe he’d finally know another peaceful Night’s sleep again. At least then, he wouldn’t be having to damn near nail his curtain shut to keep out a bitch he wasn’t interested in who couldn’t seem to take _no_ for a fuckin’ answer. He’d take getting fired from the band and having to resort to Ice road trucking over having to put up with that shit any longer.

“What’s up, kid?” Rikki asked, cocking a brow.

“Just sit down for a minute, ’cuz we need to have a chat,” he told him, his voice a bit shaky.

“Deep breaths, love,” the young woman his band just barely remembered at this point said, grabbing his hand with one of hers and rubbing his back with the other.

Looking up at him, Richie finally took a deep breath to start off the conversation. “The reason I called _you_ in here specifically–well, this has been months in coming, and I knew Deanna was just gonna get in the way again.”

“Wait, what?” The drummer’s eyes widened. “So, ya _have_ been fuckin’ her behind my back like a couple roadies’ve told me!”

“Fuck, no!” he spat, rearing back into his girlfriend. “No fuckin’ way would I touch Deanna, whether she’s with you or not! I’ve my own girl for that shit–I don’t need to mess with another man’s!”

“Yeah, well–I’ve had a few different roadies that’ve worked for us for Years plus Deanna, herself telling me otherwise,” Rikki said, not looking too happy.

“Well, of course, ’cuz that’s how she’s engineered it!” the virtuoso told him. “She _wanted_ it to look like it was me starting shit, like I actually _wanted_ her hand shoved down my britches, if we were to get caught in a compromising situation!”

“Oh, so now you’re accusing my _fiancé_ of being manipulative and trying to rape ya?” he asked, clearly goading him.

“Ya know what? Shove it where the Sun don’t shine, Rikki.” Richie pushed himself up from the couch and started packing up his personal belongings. “And good Luck finding yourself a guitarist–I’d rather take my chances on the Winter version of the Haul Road than keep looking over my shoulder, worrying that I’ma get raped in my sleep, or when the next Time she’ll pull me into a supply closet to molest me’ll be.”

The drummer seemed more than a lil surprised, especially when the young woman at his side made absolutely no move to stop him. If anything, she looked just as disgusted at his reaction as his band mate no doubt felt when it came to his frustration at not being believed. She was clearly on the younger brunette’s side, and there wasn’t gonna be any Changing either of their minds on the matter.

Marina actually got up to help her boyfriend pack his belongings so he wouldn’t forget anything, considering how shaken he obviously still was. She wasn’t too sure how she was gonna get him Calmed down the way he needed to be in order to get him onstage tonight, so getting him outta here was prolly her best bet. It was gonna be hard enough to get him Calmed down enough to avoid having another panic attack once they got outside the venue, or even into her rig. But it was seeing tears streaming down his face when she went to brush his hair back that set off her Southern temper and made her growl at Rikki.

“After everything he’s been through ’cuz of _your_ lil bitch the majority of the Summer and Autumn combined, and now ya think it’s okay to make him cry!?” she snarled. “I _was_ becoming more and more a fan of your band, but now I’d rather watch it completely crash and burn like a tanker of jet fuel going off the side of Atigun Pass!”

“Ya don’t seriously believe him, do ya?” the drummer retorted.

“Who the fuck do ya think’s kept this moment from happening sooner than this?” she shot back. “’Cuz if ya think it’s your criminal bitch of a _fiancé,_ or either of your other band mates, you’re sadly fuckin’ mistaken, Mr. Rockett.”

“Girl, you’re insane, if ya really believe his sob-story,” Rikki told her.

“I know my man, and the amount of work he’d to put into getting me in the first place,” the young woman said. “I also know that he wouldn’t fuck that up, knowing I’ve plenty of other men just waiting for the chanceta take his place ’cuz he went after his band mate’s girl.”

“Fine, believe whatcha want,” he said. “But we’ve still got a show tonight.”

“Like I said, good fuckin’ Luck finding another guitarist,” Richie growled, violently wiping away his tears of hurt, Anger, and frustration. “Hopefully, she’ll prove her true Colorsta ya before ya make the biggest mistake of your Life by actually marrying her.”

Shouldering his carry-on and one of his duffel bags, he wasn’t given much of a choice in not grabbing his own suitcase and the other duffel bag. Marina was quick to heft said bag onto her own shoulder like she was the same height as him, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. No doubt she was used to lifting far more weight than this, if she helped load her own trailers from Time to Time, so this was like a cake walk for her. Besides, it meant they could get gone that much quicker, if he didn’t have to worry about what elseta grab before he hauled ass outta this particular venue.

Bret and Bobby were more than a lil startled when he came tearing outta his dressing room with his bags like it was Time to hit the road for the next venue on the roster. They were equally surprised to see a face they hadn’t seen in a while helping him, that face screwing up in a near snarl when Deanna got anywhere near the young man at her side.

“Don’tcha fuckin’ touch me again, bitch!” the virtuoso snapped, trying to be gentle about shouldering her outta the way when she reached out to grab his arm. “’Cuz ya touch me again, and I’ma give ya a beat-down you’ll never fuckin’ forget!”

“Richie, what the hell, man?” the shorter blonde asked, managing to catch Deanna when she stumbled.

“Didn’t your mother raise ya better than that?” Bobby asked, looking equally shocked and pissed.

“She raised me well enough to take _months_ of sexual abuse instead of cleaning her clock like I shoulda done months ago, if I wasn’t gonna quit!” he retorted. “’Cuz I dunno what the hell elseta call being dragged into a supply closet to be groped on several different occasions, unwanted kisses, and various other shit like that.”

“Ya _do_ realize you’re making accusations against Rikki’s _fiancé,_ right?” the bassist asked.

“I’ve already said my pieceta him, and he doesn’t believe me,” Richie spat. “I’d rather just take my chances on the most dangerous road in America at the most dangerous Time of Year than stay here and keep putting up with this shit.”

“Wait, you’re _seriously_ quitting when we’ve a show tonight?” Bret’s jaw dropped in shock.

“I can’t even have my own girlfriend show up to surprise me without having a panic attack ’cuz I think _she’s_ about to try copping a feel again!” the virtuoso screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at the woman in question. “That’s no way for _any_ guy to live, and I’d rather go over a Cliff with jet fuel on my fifth wheel than to live through anymore of that shit!”

“You’re lucky I’ve been able to appeal to his sense of Responsibility, or the tour prolly wouldn’t have lasted this long,” Marina growled. “At least, not with _him_ as your guitarist.”

Without giving them a chanceta argue the point further, she gladly escorted her boyfriend out to her rig, which she’d driven down all the way from Alaska. Assured that he was safely in the rig and no one was gonna mess with him, she left him to settle into the sleeper while she stormed off to the band’s gear rig. She was a woman on a mission, and she wasn’t about to let the rest of the band or their manager stand in her way since so much more was at stake here.

Hauling herself up the catwalk on the driver’s side, the young woman rapped her knuckles against the window, which was rolled up to retain the heat. She wasn’t surprised to see a man prolly in his thirties or forties appear from the sleeper moments later, a bit of a sleepy look on his face. Part of her felt kinda sorry for having woken him up, but another part couldn’t have cared less that she’d more or less broken an unspoken trucker’s code by doing so. Her boyfriend and his mental Health–which was slipping, and fast–was of more importanceta her right now than heeding a spoken or unspoken trucker’s code. If she didn’t get him outta here, he was no doubt to have a full-on mental breakdown as a result of what he’d been through.

“I hate to wake ya up, man, butcha got two choices,” Marina said once he’d rolled his window down. “Ya can work with me, or ya can get in my way. Either way, I’m getting my way in off-loading Richie’s gear and taking it with me, so make your choice very–and I do mean _very_ –wisely.”

“Who’re you, though?” the man asked, looking startled.

“His girlfriend, Marina,” she answered.

“Ah, the one I’ve accidentally interrupted a few phone calls with.” He nodded. “Name’s Earl. Lemme get some britches on, and I’ll help ya get his gear since I’m willing to lay my next paycheck on the last few months coming to a head.”

“You’d be right about that, Earl,” the young woman told him. “He’d a full-on panic attack from being told he’d a surprise waiting for him in his dressing room, that surprise being me.”

“I’ma assume you’re getting him outta here while I’m getting my britches and boots on,” Earl mused.

Nodding, she let him know that she’d most likely be waiting at his ass-End since she wasn’t in the business of going into someone else’s trailer without permission, if she didn’t have to. She didn’t bother explaining anything else, knowing he’d figure it out soon enough, as she headed back to her own rig and hauled herself up into it. It’d be pretty hard to miss once he saw a bobtailing rig parked behind his trailer, considering he was no doubt expecting a lil passenger car or something.

Sure enough, when the other trucker saw the rig parked at his ass-End with her climbing down from the driver’s side, Richie in the passenger’s seat, it clicked without her having to say another word. He nodded as he opened the doors of his trailer, having figured out that she was following that unspoken trucker’s code as much as she possibly could under the circumstances.

Even though he hadn’t wanted to, Marina’d made her boyfriend stay put in her rig so he could just relax, having assured him that she was quite capable of getting his gear. It appeared as though the trucker hired for this particular leg of the tour was more than willing to help her, and besides, his staying in her rig’d make loading it up that much easier. That’d give her someone to hand shit like guitar cases and amps up to, which’d mean getting it into the sleeper, rather than dropping them down the side of her rig. Besides, this was far from the first Time she’d to climb up into a van trailer like this and dig through its cargo for even a partial off-load, so she was used to it.

It wasn’t long before she’d handed up the last of his gear, the virtuoso quick to stow it in the sleeper as best he could till she could come up and help him. Considering they were a couple, he thought it a better idea to hide his guitars on the top bunk, as long as they could find a way to bungie them in well enough that they wouldn’t come flying out every Time she hit the brakes. Getting him outta here was already going above and beyond in her duties as a girlfriend, but she wasn’t letting his most prized possessions get Destroyed. Tying them back so they were safe was the easy part–it was gonna be mending his broken mind that’d be far harder.


	9. Eight

After a pit stop at the Seattle yard that allowed Native to operate in the Pacific Northwest, Richie and Marina made pretty good Time with hauling a load up through the entirety of British Columbia and part of Yukon, Canada. Luckily, the young woman was perfectly legal to drive through their Northern neighbor, but there was a bit of a catch. Unless she’d sudden complications from her hypoglycemia that forced him to take over, her boyfriend _wasn’t_ legal to handle the rig on Canadian soil. He’d only his CDL permit, which’d been issued by California–it just wouldn’t cut the mustard for driving in another country unless he was forced to, which everybody hoped wouldn’t happen.

Once the load they’d picked up on their way back was dropped off at the Fairbanks yard, the couple headed to Marina’s houseta catch some rest. The Intent was for her to take her boyfriend back home to his folks for at least Thanksgiving, if only to give him a small sense of normalcy after everything he’d been through. She felt that seeing his family again’d help Ground him more, which’d be a good thing all around, but especially if he was Intent on working toward his full-fledged CDL throughout the Ice road Season.

Even Jason agreed that it’d be best for the young man to see his folks again, and he agreed that he really needed to be Grounded before hitting the Haul Road as even a passenger. After seeing how he’d freaked slightly when lil Amanda’d accidentally brushed against his crotch when she’d hugged him, he really believed that he’d some serious Healing to do. In fact, he even convinced him to see a head-shrinker throughout December just to be damn sure he was good to go. The Ice road Season didn’t kick off till January, just a couple Days after New Years, so it wasn’t like he’d miss any of the Season by getting some therapy first.

“Let’s go, guys,” Jason said, leading the couple through the Departures section of FAI. He’d agreed to go with them just so his best friend wouldn’t be alone, if she needed any help with her man.

“Yeah, ’cuz if we don’t, we’ll wind up missing our flight,” she agreed.

“Can’t fuckin’ wait to see Mom and Dad again–even Dana and her annoying Self,” the virtuoso chuckled.

“Who on Earth’s Dana?” his newest friend asked, looking confused.

“My older sister,” Richie answered, unable to help a grin. “She’s annoying as hell sometimes, but I’m sure she’ll tell ya I’m worse once we get to Penn.”

“Most older siblings _do_ say that about the younger ones,” the other trucker agreed. “Got a younger brother of my own who never failsta annoy the shit outta me, and don’t even get me started on Rina sometimes.”

“Bite me, asshat,” Marina snickered. “’Cuz you’re just as annoying when ya wanna be.”

“I’ma leave biting ya up to your man, as long as he feels up to it–less trouble all the way around that way,” he snickered.

The virtuoso answered that snicker with a grin and pretending to nibble on her shoulder before miming going in to take out a chunk. “Never said I wasn’t up for that, or even sex–I’m just a lil skittish with it.”

“And that’s the thing we’re hoping this’ll help with that,” she told him as she glanced back over her shoulder. “Putcha back in familiar surroundings with people ya know and love thatcha know’re gonna fight to Death for ya as much as I will, rather than tryina hurtcha.”

“That includes mentally and Emotionally, kid,” Jason agreed, careful about reaching over to squeeze his shoulder.

“And that’s the very reason why I love her as much as I do, and am well on the road to calling even _you_ a brother,” he told them. “Or maybe I should be saying brother-in-law, if you’re like the brother she’s never had.”

None of them could help a laugh since they knew he’d a point since it’d be a lil weird to consider one of the pair his brother and be dating the other, who also felt the same way about the same guy. But that was one of the reasons why he was able to bond with both as much as they were able to bond with him. They found their own unique ways of regarding each other that wasn’t necessarily derogatory, which’d no doubt help with Richie recovering from this traumatizing Summer and Autumn.

Walking outta PHL in Philadelphia after nearly twelve hours in the Air, the group was absolutely bushed and forced into hailing a cab. Despite having driven through fatigue under far worse circumstances, neither Jason, nor Marina wanted to push their Luck. They weren’t nearly as used to City driving since they didn’t really go down to even Anchorage unless there was a push-trucking gig for them. If they tried driving through a City as big and busy and Philadelphia, it no doubt wouldn’t End well for any of them, not even in a passenger car. And the young man they were bringing home for a while didn’t even feel up to taking his chances, despite having grown up on the outskirts of this City and knowing it far better.

After a lil over an hour on the road–and having to fish out his wallet to pay a couple tolls since he wasn’t about to make the cabbie handle it–Richie heaved a sigh of relief. They’d just pulled up at the curb outside his parents’ house, and he knew damn good and well they wouldn’t be expecting him. It’d be a pleasant surprise for them as much as seeing them again’d feel good for him after the shit he’d been through lately.

Sure enough, the front door opened as they were grabbing their bags from the trunk of the cab, his mother peeking out curiously. All it took to have her squealing like a schoolgirl as she darted through the grass, rather than risking Life and limb on the snowy sidewalk was a single word he knew damn good and well the others with him didn’t understand. Then again, he purposely hadn’t told either of them that he was actually multi-lingual as a result of his family history. It was something he’d Intended to surprise at least his girlfriend with, although he’d hoped the circumstances he did it under were better than this.

Marina couldn’t help but cock a brow as curiously as Jason, the other trucker brushing the Snow outta his beard as they listened to the barrage. They were smart and observant enough to see the similarities between the virtuoso and the woman he leaned down to hug, who was easily about his girlfriend’s height. Actually, she might even be shorter than the young trucker he was dating, but that wasn’t of any real importance. He just hoped they could get along with one another, ’cuz he really didn’t wanna have to choose between his women.

“Back to English now, Mom,” he chuckled. “They’re not polyglots like us.”

“So, who _are_ they?” the older woman asked curiously.

“This’d be my girlfriend, Marina, the one I toldja about in a few of our phone calls this Summer,” Richie answered. “Rina, this is my mom, Georgine.”

“A pleasure,” his mother said, shooting her a grin.

“Likewise,” Marina agreed.

“This’d be one of her–and now _my_ –friends, Jason,” he continued.

“A pleasure, ma’am,” the older trucker said, tipping his hat to her.

“Coming down here and staying through Thanksgiving was Rina’s idea,” Richie told her. “Been a crazy Summer and Autumn, and she honestly thinks it’s the best thing for me.”

“Then get on in the house,” Georgine told them, ushering the trio up to the front door once their fare’d been settled. “’Cuz whatever madeja come home from tour early must be a doozy.”

The virtuoso simply dead-panned as he told her that she didn’t have the slightest clue how much of a doozy his Summer and Autumn’d been thus far. But he definitely wasn’t gonna get into it out front where anybody and their brother could wind up overhearing. He honestly didn’t wanna tell his parents what’d happened, whether it was separately or together, so he definitely didn’t want anyone who shouldn’t knowing.

In the house, the truckers were both introduced to his father, who’d started getting suspicious when his wife’d taken so long to come back in. Rich, Sr. was just as happy to see his son, quick to grab him for a Bear-hug that nearly freaked him out at first, but was quickly Returned. He was far more gentle on the woman introduced as his son’s girlfriend, who proved she was every bit as tough as she acted, before he turned a handshake on the final man. With the pleasantries taken care of, the trio was corralled at the dining table that was set up in the breakfast nook, his mother already slaving over the stove.

“So, what on Earth’re ya doing here, son?” the oldest man asked curiously. “I thought your tour wasn’t supposed to End for another two months.”

“Let’s just say shit hit the fan, and I couldn’t take it anymore, Dad,” Richie sighed, propping his head in one hand.

“Breathe, love,” his girlfriend murmured, gently nuzzling his other cheek as she wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Just take your Time, kid.” Even Jason was gentle about rubbing his back. “I know ya don’t wanna relive it, but trying to force yourself to get it over with faster ain’t gonna help.”

Even his father looked concerned as he started shaking slightly, clearly leaning into his girlfriend and letting the other man Comfort him.

“It’s that, or I can tell ’em the gist for ya,” Marina told him.

“Please, sweetheart?” the virtuoso veritably begged. “Just thinking about it’s sending my head to places we’re trying to get it _away_ from.”

Nodding, she looked up at his parents, who were looking confused and concerned as her friend gently covered his ears. “From what he’s told me ever since he picked up with the South American leg in late-July, Rikki’s _fiancé_ was sexually assaulting him.”

_“What!?”_ Georgine looked ready to blow a gasket.

“Depends on your definition of that, but I certainly consider unwanted touching and kissing, even after repeated attempts short of knocking her Lights out that went ignored to get her to stop, to be such,” the young woman said.

“Hence why he decided to quit the tour–prolly even the band–and get out while he could,” her friend said. “They told me he’d a panic attack just from Rina showing up to surprise him with a visit, ’cuz he thought it was Rikki’s _fiancé_ trying to get him alone again.”

“But she never managed to do worse than just kissing and touching?” Rich, Sr. asked, a frown marring his features.

“Not as far as I know,” she answered, shaking her head. “I’d like to think he’d tell me something like that, and even if he wouldn’t, that he wouldn’t say he was up for even sex with me when he really wasn’t.”

His mother was quick to wrap him in a tight, motherly hug once she’d brought over three mugs of homemade hot Chocolate for them. She was more than a lil fired-up at seeing her baby hurting to the point that he couldn’t even talk about it, and she was ready to go on the attack. Even her husband knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t feign his responsesta something this serious. Whatever he claimed happened really _had_ happened, even if they happened under slightly different circumstances than what he said.

Richie all but melted into his mother’s arms, taking Comfort and Security from that hug the same way he’d done as a young child. He hated having to admit what’d happened to his parents, ’cuz he felt like it made him seem weak since he hadn’t been able to put a stop to it any other way than what he’d ultimately chosen. That was when his girlfriend gently made him look her in the eye, a bit of a hard look in hers as she told him that that simply wasn’t true. Even though it’d been far from easy, he’d gotten through the situation he’d found himself in with his head held high and no assault or murder charges pinned on him.

Georgine looked down at him after kissing the top of his head and said this young woman’d a very valid point in what she said. There were many other ways he coulda chosen to escape the situation, like snapping and breaking the other woman’s neck. It may or may not’ve been construed as Self-Defense, but he still coulda killed her as a meansta get her to cease and desist.

“This coulda turned out a whole lot worse than it did, son,” Rich, Sr. agreed as he reached out to grab his hand. “I mean, let’s look at the End result from a different angle for a minute. She coulda managed to go further than what she did and _really_ fuck with your head, but she didn’t get that chance, right?”

“Hell, no!” the virtuoso spat like he’d a mouthful of acid. “If I stick my dick in anything but whoever I happen to be dating–Rina, in this case–it’ll be a meat grinder before I stick it in Deanna, willingly or no!”

“Lovely mental image for those of us who _have_ dicks, kid,” Jason chuckled.

“Well, I’d rather take my chances with fuckin’ one of those and coming out with an intact dick than fuckin’ that bitch and coming out clean,” he said. “I swear, she’s no doubt _riddled_ with venereal diseases that Rikki’ll never get rid of, if he’s forgotten or purposely not used a rubber even once with her.”

“Judging by what lil I saw of her appearance that one Night, I wouldn’t doubt it,” his girlfriend agreed.

“Damn, girl–ya don’t _ever_ make a judgment based on appearances alone,” the older trucker said with a whistle.

“Trust me, Jace–if you’d seen what I did, you’d take your chances with me _not_ skinning your dick with a Tater peeler over sticking it in _that,”_ Marina swore. “Hell, that’s if ya could get _Lil Jason_ to stop playing _Turtle_ and come out to play in the first place, she looked so disgusting to me.”

“Blech, no thanks.” He grimaced and shivered. “Gimme a load of jet fuel and a slippery Atigun Pass again, ’cuz that sounds like more fun than _either_ of those options.”

“Wait, what?” Georgine looked as confused as her husband.

Grinning, Jason explained what he meant, which was a referenceta their careers as Ice road truckers that their son’d only gotten ’cuz he’d already known what they did for a living. But that opened up the perfect door for Richie to tell his parents what his plans were, and that he was leaving them absolutely no room for argument on the matter.

Naturally, his mother tried to talk him outta going through with such a thing outta the same motherly concern that’d her ready to go on the Warpath now. But he was just as stubborn and hard-headed as his father–and likely every other man on the Planet, for that matter. He refused to back down, saying that he’d fun on the few trips up the Dalton he’d taken that Summer after he’d gotten his CDL permit. Since he’d already seen it when it was more of a mud bog than it wasn’t, he wanted to see it in the middle of Winter when it was Ice and frozen dirt instead of mud and dry dirt.

Marina swore up and down that she wouldn’t let him haul a load without taking the first run herself, which’d give her Time to gauge out the exact conditions. Besides, she and Jason always convoyed together, especially during the Winter, just in case her sugar started acting up and she needed the help. Even if he couldn’t do anything but drag her into his own rig and force-feed her glucose tablets while running her to the nearest DOT outpost, at least she’d have help when she needed it–which’d mean her boyfriend would, too.

The Kotzens were still dubious about letting their son take off to do such a thing, but they knew they couldn’t really stop him. He was a man grown and of relatively sound mind–he was quite capable of making his own decisions, whether they agreed with them or not. Not only that, but he’d folks already looking out for him that’d continue that pattern much further North than what they currently were. In addition to that, they were assured that if conditions got bad enough, Marina’s father wouldn’t even let him ride along as a passenger to ensure his safety. He was just the kinda guy who wasn’t gonna let somebody get hurt, if he didn’t have to, and if that meant keeping an permitted newbie benched in Fairbanks with him, he’d do it.

Rich, Sr. and Georgine were still a bit dubious, but after all he’d been through this Year, they just wanted to see their baby boy happy. If hitting the Haul Road with his girlfriend and her best friend was what ultimately made him happy–well, they’d just have to suck it up and hope they never got a parent’s nightmare call. The best-case scenario’d be that he came home to them safe and sound, if he didn’t decide to move to Alaska, himself.


	10. Nine

After a couple weeks spent in Penn with the Kotzens, said family decided they were actually willing to bring their Thanksgiving celebration up to Alaska. They agreed that it’d be easier for grown adultsta move their celebration than to try getting Kyle to fly down South with two kids since he’d been watching Amanda and Evan for their dad. Not only that, but considering their son’d said he was thinking about moving up to Alaska to be closer to his girlfriend, they kinda wanted to see the area he was talking about moving to.

Upon arriving at Marina’s house, Georgine and Rich, Sr. couldn’t help a laugh as the kids came tearing outta the houseta knock down their dad and surrogate aunt like there _wasn’t_ several feet of Snow on the ground. Then again, these two were used to even more Snow than any of them were, even though Penn certainly got its fair share of the stuff. No doubt they were used to running through Snow this deep since it tended to start before the Ice road Season did, then hang around well after it’d Ended. The couple and their daughter supposed they shouldn’t have been as surprised by that kinda thing as they should be by Richie wanting to move to this area since he swore he hated the cold.

In the house, the other family was surprised to find that the layout of the first story was almost identical to their own home. There was an officeta the left of the stairs as they came in that was no doubt used for business involving Native Enterprises where there was a wall in their own home. Another difference was that the Dixons’ garage opened into a lil mud room straight across from the living room and breakfast nook, whereas the Kotzens’ garage opened straight into the living room. But even the second story and basement were pretty similar to the latter family’s, even if the layouts’d a few differences from one another.

“Can’t say I was expecting to practically walk into my own home when we got up here,” Rich, Sr. chuckled.

Kyle cocked a brow curiously as almost everybody started settling in the living room.

“The first floor’s practically identical to _their_ house, Daddy,” his daughter laughed. “Garage’s on the other side of the house from ours and they don’t have an office, but otherwise…”

“Ya know, I didn’t really pay that much attention before, but she’s right,” Jason agreed, now pinned down by his kids.

_“Ahhhh,_ I gotcha now,” he said, nodding.

“So, what on Earth madeja settle here in Alaska, if you’re from the South like your daughter was saying?” Georgine asked curiously.

“Got stationed in Anchorage when I was in the Army, and when I was medically discharged, I just liked it too much to leave,” the oldest trucker chuckled. “Broken leg, before ya ask that, too.”

“Seems like it doesn’t stop ya now,” Dana mused.

“Fuck, no–never been a guy who gave up easily, or I wouldn’t be the owner of one of the top trucking companies in the area now,” Kyle laughed. “Nor would I’ve managed to raise a girl who’s enough feminine wilesta attract a man and keep him, but get out there and keep up with the best of ’em like she _is_ a man.”

“So, she _wasn’t_ kidding about that,” Georgine chuckled.

“Fuck, no.” The youngest trucker in question let out a laugh of her own as she and her boyfriend Returned from putting his family’s bags in the basement bedrooms. “Not many can even get somethin’ like the _Screamin’ Demon_ in gear, let alone into motion.”

“The _Screamin’ Demon?”_ her husband asked, looking confused.

“One of my ’74 Ford rigs,” the oldest trucker explained. “They always said when those jokers came off the lot to get in, slam your fingers in the door, and drive it like mad–make that Detroit motor scream for Mercy.”

“But instead of callin’ it a _Sreamin’ Ford_ like most do, we call ours the _Screamin’ Demon,”_ Marina snickered.

None of the truckers could help a laugh at the Curiosity that lit up Richie’s eyes as they talked about the piece of machinery they all seemed to love. He’d only been exposed to the T800s and W900s in the barn yard, so he kinda wanted to see this much older rig, whether stationary or in motion. Turned out that they were more than willing to show him, which got even his parents’ and sister’s Curiosity piqued alongside his own.

Even Amanda and Evan giggled as they flew out the door to the almost airport hangar-sized building out back, their surrogate grampa grabbing a set of keys off a hook by the back door. The others followed behind as they grabbed their coats and boots, something the virtuoso’d insisted his family bring since the Snow was a lot deeper up here. That, and he’d insisted that they bring not only their fleece-lined jeans, but they even bust out their long-johns for the trip up here. After all, the average high in the Fairbanks area for this Time of Year was eleven–the average _low_ being six below–but all that Snow made a big difference.

Out in that airport-hangaresque thing, Kyle was working on firing up his rig since he made sure to keep it thawed out, just in case. There might be a Day that a rig in his barn yard went down, so he was forced to bust out this one to haul a load up to Prudhoe Bay, himself. He’d obviously wanna get on the road sooner rather than later, so he’d never wanna let it freeze solid in the event that he needed it. Luckily for him, it proved to be as dependable as the Old Faithful Geyser, only taking two triesta finally turn over with a roar.

“Jeez, that thing really _does_ sound like a demon!” Dana laughed as he revved it.

“Or like it’s screaming for Mercy!” her mother agreed with a laugh of her own.

“Oh, y’all think it’s screamin’ for Mercy now, just wait till he gets it out and flyin’ across the pasture,” Marina told them. “That’ll _really_ make it scream!”

“More like if I let _you_ take ’er out with your boot through the floor, sugar britches,” the oldest trucker chuckled as he climbed down.

“If it weren’t for how rarely ya lemme touch the _Demon,_ I’d rip ya a new one for that since ya know I hate it, Daddy!” she retorted, even as she moved to climb up.

“I only do it ’cuz ya _let it_ get to ya,” Kyle told her, not bothering to hide his grin.

A few choice words and a raised middle finger answered him, but no one besides he and Jason understood her since she’d chosen one of the Native Alaskan languagesta pop off in.

“Get on in there and let her show ya how we handle one of these ol’ bad boys, son,” he said, glancing at the youngest man.

“You’re sure I’m not gonna get killed right in front of my family, if I do?” Richie asked with a nervous chuckle.

“You’re actually prolly safer in this’n some of the newer rigs,” the oldest trucker admitted. “Older vehicles usually got built with a stronger frame on a stronger chassis.”

“Remember how muscle cars of the fifties, sixties, and seventies’re like tanks compared to some of the more Modern cars?” Rich, Sr. asked with a chuckle of his own. “Well, I’m sure the same’s true for even a big rig, if its manufacturer gave even half a shit.”

A lil more reassured since even his own father was agreeing with this man, he nodded and headed over to the passenger’s door. Learning more about even an older rig couldn’t be a bad thing, ’cuz if and when he got his CDL, there might come a Day that he’d need to drive something like this. Even if he _didn’t_ ever need to for hauling a Native load, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t for projects here around this particular house. Yet another possibility was that it might be the only thing available for rushing his girlfriend to the hospital with, should she ever need to go and not have Time to be waiting what could be hours for EMS.

Pulling outta what he’d to call a hangar-barn, Marina made sure that everyone else was well outta the way before she took off toward the nearest field that was part of her property. Once she was well away from the rest of the group so nobody’d get run over, she definitely made that particular rig live up to its nickname. If that rig wasn’t screaming like a demon worse than right after her father’d fired it up, the virtuoso couldn’t come up with a better way to describe it.

Laughter rang out as Richie grabbed the door handle he’d ordinarily useta pull the door shut with, his other hand bracing against the roof over his head. His girlfriend managed to even do donuts a couple Times, which was certainly no easy feat in something this big, if one didn’t wanna potentially have a roll-over. Sure, it was a lil on the terrifying side for him, but it was one of those exhilarating kinda Terrors that gave him an adrenaline rush of the good kind. If he’d to really try to think of a label for how he felt as she finally settled down and started heading back to the hangar-barn, he’d say it was like riding a rollercoaster. There was Terror that’d get one’s blood to pumping pretty good, but it couldn’t be described as anything short of exciting.

“Holy–I think I need to go change my britches, sweetheart!” he laughed as they climbed outta the rig once it was parked again.

“Did she _really_ scare ya that bad, baby brother?” Dana asked.

“Not scare, _per sé,”_ the virtuoso answered with a grin. “It was kinda like riding a rollercoaster–terrifying, but exhilarating all at once.”

“Now, imagine five hundred or so miles of that _without_ the donuts,” Jason chuckled.

“Yeah, that pretty much sums up the Haul Road in a single sentence,” his girlfriend agreed. “Twists, turns, wrecks, and everything else ya can think of around every corner.”

“Ya might know every square inch of that road, butcha don’t always know what to expect,” Kyle said when his parents looked horrified. “Ya might go over the _Rollercoaster_ one Time and there be no problems one Time, but a massive wreck involving one of your fellow truckers–from another company or your own–just over the next rise the next Time ya do.”

_“Ahhhh.”_ Rich, Sr. nodded as it started to click. “So, you’re not telling us that as a way of saying our son’s _gonna_ get killed out there or anything.”

“Far from it,” he told them. “More like I’m painting a picture of the Reality he’s to face, if he wantsta go out there to work on getting his CDL.”

“It’s dangerous out there, and only the best of the best’re gonna make it,” Marina said. “Jason and I are Daddy’s top drivers–me being his top trainer for newbies–for a reason, and it ain’t ’cuz we go out there and goof off like idiots.”

“And if Kyle trusts them enough to say they’re his top go-tos on the Haul Road, _I’m_ willing to trust them, too,” Richie told his parents with a smile.

Even Georgine was more concerned with him being sure about his decision, which he seemed to be _very_ sure about. Not only that, but they were just concerned with the fact that he came home to them alive, rather than being hauled back in a body bag that was put in one of the van trailers. Course, that was assuming there was even a body _to_ put in a body bag, rather than just a few random pieces collected outta the ditch.

Since they’d come up here to celebrate Thanksgiving with the combined Jessee and Dixon family, they agreed to back-burner such conversations for now. After all, they were just thankful to still have their son after the crazy Year he’d been through, which coulda very well resulted in _someone’s_ Death. If not someone’s Death, then it coulda resulted in getting him taken away in the sense that he was imprisoned for Life, or locked up in a nuthouse when he’d a total mental break. The fact that Richie was still with them and relatively sane after what he’d been put through was an absolute miracle, and something to be thankful for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, for anyone interested in the visual... Here's the linksta both the Dixon/Jessee house, as well as the Kotzen house. No, I didn't Intentionally pick 'em to be damn near identical–it just happened to work out that way! LOL!
> 
> I _did_ Intentionally move the Dixon/Jessee house from outside to Anchorage to outside Fairbanks, considering the setting of the story. That's also true with moving the Kotzen house from Denver, PA to closer to the heart of Reading, considering that I've read Richie's from the Reading, PA area.  
> ~Firefly
> 
> Link to Dixon/Jessee House–https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/16052-Sunset-Bend-Cir-Anchorage-AK-99516/68023138_zpid/?
> 
> Link to Kotzen House–https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/142-Woodmeadow-Dr-Denver-PA-17517/87898871_zpid/?


	11. Ten

_January, 1994_

“Morn, Dale–whatcha got for me today?”

Richie’d just walked into dispatch at the Fairbanks yard following his third solo run up the Haul Road, which was his fifth in total. He’d taken the first two with his girlfriend as either a passenger or a co-driver, then managed to take a personal Day while in Fairbanks. Since he’d not only gotten a bit of therapy to help with his trauma from the Summer and Autumn previous, but he’d moved up to Alaska during December, he’d to get his full-fledged CDL up here. It certainly worked out, ’cuz now that he’d done that and proven to be just as good on the Haul Road as his girlfriend and Jason, he’d been turned looseta haul loads on his own. Granted, he still usually convoyed with said girlfriend, just in case she’d any trouble, but the point was that he’d his own rig.

“A meeting with the boss, kiddo,” Dale told him as he looked up.

“Um, what?” He was a bit startled by that since–as far as he knew–he and Kyle were on pretty good terms.

“Just c’mon in and have a seat, son.”

Glancing over at the door to the rarely-used conference room as Marina walked in behind him, he saw the very man he was trying to stay on the good side of.

“You, too, sugar britches,” Kyle said, gesturing to both.

“The hell’s going on, Daddy?” she asked, even as she made to do as he said.

The company owner didn’t say a word till they were in the conference room, where his young charge got the shock of his Life.

“The fuck’re _y’all_ doing here?” Richie snapped, having not expected to find his former band gathered around the End of the table that couldn’t be seen from Dale’s desk.

“Rikki’s something he both wants _and_ needsta say to ya,” Bobby spoke up. “And if he doesn’t, so help me God, I’ll _letcha_ take him up on that Atigun Pass ya were talking about and throw him off the edge.”

Even his girlfriend looked confused as they took seats of their own, her father not looking the slightest bit confused. No doubt they’d gotten here hours ago, if not the Day previous, so he’d already been filled in on what the bassist was talking about. But knowing that Kyle already knew what they were here for wasn’t exactly much of a Comfort as he grabbed his girlfriend’s hand tightly.

“Get to it, Rik, or I’m making good on my word,” the older brunette growled. “Hell, I’ll even brave the Haul Road as a passenger myself, if it means I get to see your frozen demise.”

Looking up at their former guitarist, Rikki took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for that Night last November as much as I _need_ to, Richie.”

“Why bother? Ya clearly didn’t believe me, so there’s no point in offering an apology that’s not sincere now,” he snapped.

“No, I _didn’t_ believe ya then–but I can’t deny what pretty much got shoved down my throat recently,” the drummer sighed, lowering his faceta rest in his hand.

The virtuoso-turned-trucker started to ask what he was talking about, only to get cut off unexpectedly.

“He can’t deny it anymore ’cuz he walked in on Deanna doing the same thing to me,” Bobby explained, a glower marring his face.

“Wait, what?” Richie’s brows shot up to his hairline in shock.

“Bitch came into my dressing room before our last show in Brazil last week,” the bassist said. “I thought it was Mishy at first, so I didn’t think anything of a hand grabbing my bare ass–till its owner came around where I could see her and I realized it was Deanna.”

“He was almost late for Sound check, so Rikki and I went to find him,” Bret added. “Imagine our shock to find him pinned up against the wall, struggling to free his hands from where she’d pinned them between his back and the wall, with _hers_ groping him.”

He couldn’t help a shiver as a familiar haunted look appeared in the other brunette’s eyes, memories of that very thing happening to himself on numerous occasions. There was nothing that made him feel more disgusting and weak than feeling the hands of a woman he didn’t want doing such a thing roaming into places they didn’t belong. It didn’t matter whether they were talking about his crotch, his ass, or even up and down his ribs and back–it was _his_ body, and she’d no right to touch him like that without his permission, which he obviously hadn’t given.

“And I couldn’t call out for help, either, ’cuz she was practically making me eat her tongue so I _couldn’t_ scream,” Bobby said, unable to help a violent shiver of his own.

“Not that I’m trying to be crude, but how many Times did it happen to _you?”_ he asked.

“Once, but that was once too many for me,” the bassist answered.

“Now take that feeling, and multiply it by easily a hundred,” Richie grumbled. “Prolly more than that since I’d to put up with it from the start of the South American leg in late-July to the Night I quit in November.”

“Fuckin’-A,” the vocalist breathed, his bright, Sky-blue eyes widening. “It’s no fuckin’ Wonder ya were a nervous wreck all Summer.”

“Hence why when I finally snapped, I took off with Rina, moved up here, and got my CDL,” he said. “’Cuz when I said I’d rather take my chances on the most dangerous road in America during the worst Time of Year than keep putting up with that shit, I wasn’t kidding.”

“And he ain’t kidding about the Haul Road being incredibly dangerous, especially during the Winter,” Kyle finally spoke up. “They didn’t call it the _Kamikaze Trail_ even ten or fifteen Years ago for nothin’, if that puts it in perspective for y’all.”

The entire band blanched at the Thought of how bad it coulda been, if it’d wound up saddled with _that_ kinda nickname by those who ran it.

“But Richie’s survived long enough to get his full-fledged CDL and make me feel comfortable in turning him loose on his own,” he continued. “With anyone else, I wouldn’t have even considered it till this Time next Year, but he’s proven to be an incredibly strong young man.”

“If he managed to survive being sexually assaulted at every turn for months on End without having a total mental break, then come up here and survive this–well, I’m starting to think that’s not exactly a bad idea, myself,” Bobby admitted. “’Cuz sure, I absolutely despise the cold–I moved back to my home State of Florida for a reason–and I’ve a family to go home to, but anything’s better than dealing with _that_ for as long as Richie did.”

“Don’t get to talkin’ like that, or Daddy’ll make it happen,” Marina warned him with a chuckle. “’Cuz we can always use the extra help up here, even if it’s just with making deliveries around town.”

Even Rikki couldn’t help a chuckle as she issued that warning, which made her father smirk as he agreed that the older brunette shouldn’t tempt Fate like that with him. She wasn’t kidding about how they could always use more folks who wouldn’t flip even a box truck onto its side and get themselves killed. If he really wanted to put himself to the ultimate survival test and through some seriously tough paces, he could easily give one of his buddies at the local DMV a call and tell them to be expecting someone seeking a CDL permit.

The bassist looked thoughtful for a moment, then said he wasn’t gonna make any promises about actually going through with it just yet. He wasn’t gonna do any such thing without seeing how this so-called Haul Road was for himself, as long as he was willing to let him ride along as a passenger. Not only that, but without seeing it–or if he got scared outta it by the conditions–he still had the band to worry about.

Kyle let out a whistle that damn near every employee who happened to be in the building recognized the second they heard it. Seconds later, Dale appeared in the doorway to the conference room since he was the closest that could answer the bossman’s call. Assured that he’d his full attention, he told him to go find Jason, even if that meant calling him back to the yard, if he’d already left with his next load. Luckily for him, the _Haul Road Ace’d_ just headed outside to find his trailer so he could hook up, which meant there was still Time to catch him before he left.

“Yessir?” he asked, pulling his baseball cap emblazoned with _Native_ across the front off to beat off the Snow that’d piled up on it as he walked in.

“Got a special assignment for ya, son,” the oldest trucker answered with a chuckle.

“I’m listening,” Jason said, looking kinda suspicious as he settled his hat back on his head.

“Unless the blondes wanna go with, the brunette’s gonna be special cargo today,” he told him.

“Oh, so I get fresh meat to kill?” the trucker asked, unable to help a grin. “Let’s unleash the killer, then!”

Bobby paled almost dangerously, his face and neck turning as white as a sheet.

“Relax, son–he’s just kidding,” Kyle laughed as he clapped his shoulder. “Jason didn’t get the nickname _Haul Road Ace_ by accident–he’s my top driver aside from my daughter, and he earned that title fair and square.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s to scare a guy _already_ ready to shit himself!” the bassist retorted. “And ask the blondes, if ya don’t believe me–not much scares me in the first place, let alone to _that_ extent.”

“You’ll Change your tune up on the Haul Road, man, but not ’cuz of _my_ driving,” Jason assured him. “Well, it might be _partially_ ’cuz of my driving, but not ’cuz I’m being an idgit.”

“He means that if he scares ya with his driving, it’s ’cuz he’s trying to _avoid_ another rig or puttin’ it in the ditch,” the young woman explained. “’Cuz sometimes, ya _gotta_ get a lil wild up there to avoid shit like that.”

“Found that out for myself firsthand,” her boyfriend agreed. “And I mean as both a passenger _and_ as a driver.”

Looking at the pair of blondes and their lone brunette friend, Kyle said it was completely up to them if any of them headed up to the Haul Road or not. If all of them wanted to go, he somehow got the feeling the taller of the blondes–whom they’d introduced as Rikki–would wind up riding shotgun with his ace driver. Pretty much everybody could tell that Richie wanted nothing to do with him, which might tempt him into doing shit he shouldn’t be doing up there, if he were to ride with him.

All three of their visitors decided they wanted to tag along, if only so they could find out if their former band mate was right in what he said or not. Said former band mate agreed to having Bobby in his passenger’s seat, which left the other two truckersta _pick their poison,_ as it were. Marina swore up and down that if the drummer came anywhere near her rig, she was gonna run him over with it. That left him as being stuck with her best friend, who was more or less impartial to what’d gone down the Summer previous and therefore the least likely to do him harm. Left with no other choices, that meant she was stuck with the shorter blonde, which she wasn’t thrilled about, but could tolerate at least a lil better.

With that settled and squared away, Richie rose from the chair he’d settled in and snatched up the cowboy hat he’d taken to wearing in recent Times. Settling it on his head, he motioned to the bassist he’d rarely talked to beyond discussing riffs for the album they’d worked on together, or some other form of band business. He was still more or less a man of few words, and after this surprise, he definitely didn’t have much to say to him.

Bobby was quick to high-tail it out the door behind him, settling his own cowboy hat on his head as he did while the others were grabbing their coats. He couldn’t help shivering as he walked out into the frigid Air, which was no doubt below the freezing point already. Even though Marina’d told stories of how it got even colder, the further North they went, he hadn’t quite been expecting it to be _this_ cold. Then again, he was a native Floridian– _anything_ colder than that was gonna feel like it was freezing to him, no matter how warm it really was. But he was the one who’d decided to do this, and he was gonna stick to it rather than backing out now.

“Good fuckin’ God, it’s cold up here,” he said once he’d hauled himself into the rig he was led to.

“Well, it _is_ Alaska in wintertime, man,” Richie dead-panned as they slammed their doors. “Not like it’s gonna get anywhere near as warm as Florida till June and July, according to Rina.”

“Oh, I know that,” the bassist chuckled, settling his hat on the dash like he did. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting it to be quite _this_ cold since the only other thing I’m used to is Penn.”

“Trust me when I say this is nothing compared to even Penn,” he said. “’Cuz if ya think right around zero’s cold, just wait till we’re further North–we’ll be lucky to see anywhere from sixteen-to-nine below toward Prudhoe Bay.”

“Then may we _not_ run outta waysta keep warm,” Bobby prayed.

“Not likely to happen unless we get stuck in a ditch or something,” the virtuoso told him. “And even if we did, it’s not like the Ice crossing to Nuiqsut–there’s bound to be _somebody_ that’ll happen along sooner rather than later.”

_“We all loaded up and ready to go?”_

He couldn’t help jumping at the sudden crackle followed by the question.

“Ten-four, Ace,” Richie answered after grabbing one of the mics hanging over his head. “What about you, Rebel?”

_“That’s a big ten-four, Outlaw!”_

The bassist was both surprised and not that he heard the young woman respond to his former band mate’s question from her own rig.

“Then for fuck’s sake, beam me up, Scotty!” said former band mate laughed.

_“Copy that, Outlaw,”_ Jason chuckled. _“Time for this convoy to move out.”_

A blast of a big rig horn followed as the _Haul Road Ace_ pulled out from a couple spaces down, that blast answered by a couple more. One of those answering blasts was from Richie as he waited for his girlfriend to pull out and fall in behind her best friend. With the coast clear, he stomped the clutch and threw his own rig into gear, which allowed it to jerk into motion once he let out that clutch. Keeping a sharp eye on his mirrors, he hauled out his load of drill pipe that he was taking to Prudhoe Bay, which clocked in at twenty-five tons.

The ride up the Elliott Highway wasn’t all that bad once they all got up to speed, considering that–even though it was a bit slick–it was paved. Bobby was a bit surprised by that, given the stories he’d been told over the course of last Spring when Marina was hauling their gear from one venue to the next. He was answered by a soft chuckle when he voiced that surprise, the younger brunette expertly shifting gears without missing any.

“That’s ’cuz we’ve to go eighty-three miles before we actually hit the Haul Road,” he told him. “Once we’re actually _on_ the Haul Road, though, it’s a completely different story.”

“Do I even _wanna_ know how bad?” the bassist asked, shifting in his seat so he could actually look at him.

“We’re talking Ice-covered packed dirt, man,” Richie answered with a chuckle. “Well, that’s in the Winter–in the Summer, it’s fuckin’ mud when it rains.”

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, his eyes widening.

“Rina brought me up here last Summer on our break before the start of that South American leg in July,” the virtuoso explained. “She wanted me to see it–maybe even get a chanceta drive it for myself–under relatively good conditions since I was already talking about getting my CDL then.”

“’Cuz of her sugar scaring ya to Death, right?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah, since I barely got the rig in the parking lot that Night we went from Fargo to Minneapolis–and that was _with_ what lil help she could gimme,” he answered, nodding.

“I guess I can understand wanting to get your CDL under those circumstances,” the bassist mused. “At least then, you’d be legal to take over and get us to the next venue–or at least the nearest truck stop–if nothing else.”

“That was pretty much what I was thinking,” Richie agreed. “Once I got a taste of the Haul Road, though–well, that was it. Yeah, I still enjoy Music and all, but not even touring gives me _this_ kinda rush, and that’s the kinda thing I live for.”

“Don’t be telling me that, or I might End up doing the same thing,” he laughed.

Unable to help a laugh of his own, the virtuoso focused his attention back on the road, careful not to get too closeta his girlfriend’s trailer bumper. He didn’t wanna wind up hitting a slick spot that sent them careening into her and Bret ’cuz he couldn’t slow down in Time. That’d no doubt send both of their rigs into the ditch–or even oncoming traffic–and might even send _Jason’s_ rig the same way. It’d all depend on how hard he slammed her and what Direction that slam sent her in, and he didn’t wanna find out the hard way by actually letting that happen.

In the lead rig, Jason was keeping a sharp eye on his mirrors, not just ’cuz he was hauling what they called _long pipe,_ but so he could keep an eye on the rigs behind him. He knew damn good and well that neither of the other truckers in his convoy really talked on the CB much unless they were calling out for a good reason, but he knew for sure they wouldn’t now. Whether they were talking to their passengers or not, they were gonna wanna keep their attention on the road and their surroundings.

Marina was pretty much thinking the same things as her convoy partners were, and she knew she was without having to ask either of them. They always thought more or less the same way when they were on the road, whether it was separately or together. All of them just wanted to get their loads delivered safely, then pick up the next ones, whether they were up in Prudhoe or down in Fairbanks. Having passengers was always gonna make that a bit harder since one of their biggest concerns was gonna be getting said passengersta their destinations in one piece. The fact that she didn’t really like Bret and never had–although she could tolerate his presence far better than Rikki’s at the moment–certainly wasn’t helping her.

After covering those eighty-three miles on the Elliott Highway, they all made the turn-off onto the Beginning of the Dalton. This was where things were gonna start getting freaky for the trio that were just riding along, and all three truckers knew it. But their plan wasta make it to the truck stop in Coldfoot, which was about halfway between their starting and Ending points, where they’d basically make camp for the Night.


	12. Eleven

_“Welcome to Coldfoot, lady and gents!”_

Richie couldn’t help but laugh as he and his girlfriend followed their convoy leader into the parking lot of the truck stop they almost always spent the Night at. He knew this place wasn’t exactly impressive–the temperature outside his rig certainly wasn’t at fifty below and falling–but there _was_ one cool fact about it no other truck stop could claim. According to the truckers ahead of him–and pretty much everyone else he’d talked to up here–the Coldfoot truck stop was the only one in the World built by the men who used it.

When the Dalton Highway was first being constructed about twenty-five Years previously, the truckers who ran it’d bring a handful of supplies at a Time that’d get dropped off. As Time continued to pass, those supplies’d be used to build the truck stop that was here today by the truckers who’d stop in on their way to and from Fairbanks and Prudhoe.

Bobby seemed surprised and impressed by that particular story as he headed into the sleeper once he’d parked, the rig left to idle. That was the kinda thing he liked to hear about, considering his own work ethic–which stemmed from what he’d to experience as a young child. Nothing was easy throughout the sixties, if only ’cuz his mother’d been divorced and left to raise three small children on her own. He’d developed a work ethic strong enough that he didn’t care what it took–once he set his mind to something, he was gonna see it done or die trying, and that seemed to be the mentality of the folks up here.

“Yeah, that’s kinda how it is,” the virtuoso told him. “Now, get back here, if ya want _any_ amount of privacy.”

“Wha–” he started to ask, only to be cut off.

“I’m not trying to start anything–I want that, and I’ll either throw you outta my rig, or Bret outta Rina’s,” Richie chuckled. “But I’m not letting ya head into even the truck stop without at least fleece-lined jeans, or your legs might literally freeze solid and fall off.”

“Oh, thank God!” the bassist laughed, heaving himself up outta his seat. “Might be a lil weird to wear my former band mate’s clothes, but I’ll take that over freezing to Death.”

“I kinda figuredja would,” he told him. “I’d give ya a pair of long-johnsta wear under them, too, but I don’t have any clean ones left.”

“I think I can make do with just these,” Bobby said as he pulled the sleeper curtain shut for him. “They’re certainly better than the jeans I’m wearing, which _aren’t_ lined with anything.”

While he was waiting for him to change into the fleece-lined jeans and thermal shirt he’d left out for him, the virtuoso settled back in his seat. He always took care of his log book the second he stopped, if he wasn’t just pulling over to throw tire chains or something. If he didn’t, he was too apt to forget as exhaustion set in, and that could spell trouble for him when he went through the weigh station, if his log books were checked.

By the Time the bassist’d gotten changed and wrapped up in his leather trench coat again, he was just finishing up with his Self-imposed task. He wasn’t surprised by the curious look he shot him as he settled in the passenger’s seat again till they were ready to get out, but he didn’t mind explaining what he was doing. After all, it wasn’t really that hard to explain–filling out his log book was basically just recording how many miles he’d driven to and from where, and in how many hours. Truckers were allowed sixteen hours of drive Time before being required to take ten off, mostly so they wouldn’t be driving tired.

Heading toward the truck stop once they’d climbed out, Richie wasn’t surprised to find that the other truckers and their passengers’d already headed inside. Jason and Marina were a lot more familiar with log books and how to fill them out, so they generally got that part done a lot quicker. But they always encouraged him to take his Time so it was done right, if he needed to, so he wasn’t too worried about that. He’d catch up with them inside, or he’d just stay in his rig and wait till they came back out to their own, which were parked nearby.

“Enjoying your ride up the Haul Road yet?” the oldest trucker asked as they joined the group.

“Gotta say, it’s definitely a scenic one, even if it’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a pool table,” Bobby chuckled.

“Ya _did_ give him a pair of your fleece-lined jeans, didn’tcha?” the young woman asked, a brow cocked as she looked at her boyfriend.

“Naw, I thought I’d make him walk in here in what’s basically swimming trunks,” he answered, his words veritably dripping with sarcasm. “Of course I made him change before I even let him open the door, sweetheart.”

“At least you’re not a _total_ idiot,” Marina laughed.

“Eh, I freaked him out at first, that’s for damn sure,” the virtuoso snickered.

“Hey, can ya really blame me since ya called me into the sleeper without a word about whatcha wanted before that?” he laughed. “I mean, fuck–two guys in the sleeper of a rig at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere? C’mon, now!”

“Like I said _in_ said rig, I’ll just throw ya outta mine, or Bret outta Rina’s, if I wanna go after _that,”_ Richie retorted with a grin.

“Or we can just go the way of the Polar Bears,” his girlfriend snickered.

“I don’t think _Lil Richie’s_ gonna behave, if we try that,” he shot back. “I think he’s more apt to try playing _Turtle_ again.”

“Ugh, I _do not_ need to hear this,” Bret chuckled as a waitress walked up to the table they’d congregated at.

“Oh, this is tame, blondie,” she laughed. “Some of the shit that gets talked up here’s enough to give ya gray hair when the roads, themselves don’t.”

“I rather enjoy my blonde hair,” the vocalist said, Rikki nodding his agreement.

They were all quick to put in their orders, just glad to be somewhere warm where they could stretch out more than they could in those rigs. Even though they were bigger than anything like Kyle’s _Screamin’ Demon,_ they still weren’t very easy for guys roughly six feet tall to stretch out in. It was just hard to find comfortable positions for their legs, especially since sitting for so long’d make their asses go numb eventually.

By the Time their food was delivered to the table, Richie’d made it quite clear that two of his former band mates were gonna be sharing somebody’s rig tonight. He took every chance he got to spend some quality Time with his girlfriend, whether it involved sex or not, and tonight wasn’t any different. Still, just in case things _did_ take a sexual turn, he didn’t exactly want any witnesses and didn’t think they’d _wanna_ witness any such thing. Only knowing they prolly couldn’t get whatever rig they wound up in in gear, let alone into motion kept him from worrying about putting such a plan into motion.

Jason couldn’t help a laugh, his blue eyes twinkling as he grinned and said that it’d be pretty much impossible for them to take off without _somebody_ noticing. Even if none of them noticed, there was bound to be another trucker in the parking lot who _did,_ and would no doubt call out to find out who was leaving. Not only that, but the majority of them could identify specific truckers by looking for the letter _N_ _,_ followed by a certain number. For instance, he drove the rig _N_ _-2019,_ so pretty much anyone who saw that rig knew damn good and well it was him when they did. The only Time it wasn’t was around the Fairbanks area right after some serious maintenance, ’cuz the mechanic’d usually take it on a test run before turning it back over to him.

The virtuoso was a lil more reassured by that, but couldn’t help a laugh of his own at the devious look on his girlfriend’s face. Marina said that she was cool with throwing Bret and Bobby both in her rig, mostly ’cuz she doubted either of them could figure out how to operate her split transmission without Destroying it. If they could manage that and to get outta the Coldfoot parking lot without being detected, she’d be highly surprised. What’d surprise her even more’d be to find out they managed that, then to get back to Fairbanks in two pieces.

“Least we get our alone Time, either way,” he said, tightening the arm he’d wrapped around her shoulders.

“When the rig’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’, boys!” the oldest trucker laughed.

“Not unless we manage to flip it on its side,” she retorted. “And even then, we might not care, if we don’t crack our heads.”

_“Mmm,_ now there’s a mental image,” Richie chuckled. “Going at it on my head in an overturned rig…”

“I think you’d wind up with a helluva head rush from that, kid,” the bassist laughed.

“That and the headache’d be worth it, as long as I got enough Time to sleep off the latter,” he shot back as he glanced up with a devious grin of his own. “It’d be a helluva weird story to tell later, _that’s_ for sure.”

“Not sure much can get worse than some of the shit _we’ve_ gotten into,” Rikki said.

“Seriously–rubber dispensers on the bus, Bobby running off with fans and having to get them to drive him to our next tour stop,” the vocalist agreed. “And there’s even wilder stories than that we could tell.”

“No shit,” the virtuoso said. “I mean, c’mon–look at the lyrics of _Ride Child Ride,_ andja can pretty much figure _that_ out on your own.”

“Wait, _you’re_ the band that put that one out?”

Glancing at the next table over, they saw another one of the Native guys sitting with a couple others from a friendly competitor called Carlile.

“That’s one of the best songs I’ve heard by a hair band in quite a while,” he chuckled. “Can’t say I liked much of your stuff from before that album, though.”

“’Cuz songs like _Good Love_ and _Let it Play_ weren’t released as singles,” Bobby told him. “If we’d gone that route, we mighta gotten a few more fansta take us seriously instead of thinking we were nothing but party-boys.”

“Or not, since ya _were_ a bunch of party-boys,” Richie said. “Whyddaya think I wound up sleeping in Rina’s rig instead of on the bus those couple months she was hauling for us?”

“Wait, _that’s_ where ya disappeared to?” Bret asked.

Unable to help a snicker, he admitted that after two weeks of being kept up almost ’round the clock, he’d decided to take his chances with not getting stabbed in his sleep by a crazy bitch. That earned him a slap to the chest from the crazy bitch in question, which just made him outright laugh as he reached up to keep her hand pressed to his chest. Whether he was just kidding–which was the case here–or being completely serious, she knew he was just speaking the Truth.

After finishing up their food, the group made sure to leave a sizeable tip for the staff, considering they’d to put up with a couple hours of a rowdy group that stirred up the rest of their customers. They thought it only fair to make sure they were well-compensated for having to deal with that, and it wasn’t like they didn’t have the money to cover such a thing.

Once their tab was settled and the tip left, it was decided that vocalist and bassist’d be sharing sleeping quarters for the Night. Marina joined them in her rig just long enough to show them how to fold down the upper bunk and secure the sleeper curtain for privacy. She doubted anyone’d try looking into her rig through the windshield, not that much could be seen once the cab Lights were turned off. But she also knew that not everyone’d wanna take their chances, especially when surrounded by complete and utter strangers. Luckily, she didn’t make an ass outta all of them by assuming that, ’cuz she turned out to be right about their feelings on the matter as she left them to settle in for the Night.

Richie wasn’t the slightest bit disturbed when he heard his passenger’s door open a few minutes after he’d climbed up. He knew that more than likely, it’d be his girlfriend joining him like they’d planned before they walked outta the truck stop. If it wasn’t her, it’d most likely be Bobby, and only ’cuz he’d realized he’d dropped his wallet or something else that he wanted. After all, the man was a notorious chain smoker–he didn’t think he’d make it through the entire Night without a single smoke and manage to retain his Sanity. But seeing Marina turn to rise from his passenger’s seat brought a smile to his face that was mirrored by the one on hers.

“Ya get those two goons settled, sweetheart?” he asked as she joined him and closed his sleeper curtain.

_“Mmm hmm,”_ the young woman hummed, shoving him flat on his back and settling so that she straddled his hips. “Anyone bothers us now, and they’ll just have to hope we don’t turn the rig over on ’em.”

_“Mmm,_ I like the sound of that,” Richie growled, his hands moving to gently grip her hips.

“Good, ’cuz this baby needs some good Love,” she purred, leaning over to nip at his ear.

“I could use some good Love of my own,” the virtuoso groaned, arching to press against her more as his head tipped back against his pillow.

“Then what’re we waitin’ for?” Marina chuckled, moving down to nip and suck at his throat now. “Not like we haven’t taken shit for rockin’ a rig before.”

“Haven’t turned one over yet, though–especially while we’re at a dead stop,” he retorted, unable to help squirming as he twitched.

“We can go for a new record, then,” the young woman told him.

Richie couldn’t help his next growl as he suddenly rolled over to pin her beneath him, damn near rolling her out in the sleeper floor. He didn’t have the slightest doubt that that move, alone’d made his rig rock slightly, and there was bound to be at least one other trucker who’d seen it. Luckily, he’d already turned his CBs off so they wouldn’t have to listen to any shit-talk that’d distract them from their ultimate goal tonight.

Before two hours’d passed, the couple’d managed to rock his rig more than they’d ever rocked Marina’s before he’d gotten his CDL. There was no doubt they’d be catching flack the next Day as they hit the Haul Road again, ’cuz there’d actually been a couple Times he worried about them winding up on their heads. Well, maybe not their heads since they were sammiched between her rig and that of another Native driver on the other side. It was more likely they’d have wound up sitting cock-eyed between the rigs sammiching them, but it still wouldn’t have been an easy situation to get outta later.

Sighing as they settled down to finally get some sleep with six hours of off-Time left, they couldn’t help how content they were. No matter how rough the roads got, or the surprises and challenges thrown their way were, they’d each other through it all. Even his former band showing up with an apology from Rikki that he still felt wasn’t sincere could throw him off his game. Things might Change by the next Day, but that was just the name of the game up here, and he was all for meeting every challenge head-on.


	13. Twelve

After catching about six hours of sleep, Richie was dropping himself outta his rig, only pausing long enough to help his sleepy girlfriend down. He didn’t particularly care what anyone else at the truck stop thought as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hauled her against his side. What mattered to him was that they were still alive to even _take_ any shit from anyone else this Morn, and so were their tag-alongs. They very well coulda gotten into some kinda wreck that killed at least one, but most likely _all_ of them instead of making it this far in technically six pieces.

In the truck stop, they found that they were pretty much some of the first few outta the batch of truckers that’d arrived the Night previous who were up and at ’em. The group of truckers already seated in the truckers’ area knew they were a couple, but prolly hadn’t witnessed last Night’s Insanity. At least it allowed them to slip past into the shower area so they could clean up before the whistles and Cat-calls started in earnest.

“Holy fuck–they’re still alive this Morn!”

The virtuoso smirked and raised a single middle finger to his former vocalist as they Returned, both their hair damp from the shower they’d grabbed together.

“Hey, I’m just as surprised, too,” Rikki chuckled. “The way that rig was a-rockin’ last Night, I thought it was gonna flip over on us.”

“Least we know you’d fun, though,” Bobby told them with a grin of his own. “And won’t be distracted once we hit the road again.”

“Which’ll be a good thing, considering what the Qualcomm said this Morn,” the oldest trucker broke in.

Both of the couple cocked their brows at him, not really wanting to talk since they were hoarse as hell at the moment.

“Starts with a _P,_ Ends with a _3,”_ Jason said.

“Oh, fuck me, nekkid and runnin’,” Marina finally groaned, showing just how hoarse she was.

“Do I even wanna know, sweetheart?” the virtuoso asked, sounding equally hoarse, much to his former band mates’ surprise.

“Phase-three blow,” she answered on a sigh. “Basically, think a Blizzard with the force of a Hurricane and white-out conditions.”

Looking at her best friend and convoy leader as the waitress came over to get their breakfast orders, the young woman asked what on Earth he was planning on doing. There were Times that they’d drive right through a blow till they reached Prudhoe, even if it resulted in parking in a pull-out somewhere between there and the truck stop. Other Times, they wouldn’t bother leaving Coldfoot till they were absolutely sure the Danger’d passed and neither’d be at risk.

Considering that they’d three passengers with them on this run, not to mention that Richie’d never experienced a blow–not even as a passenger, himself–he didn’t really wanna take any chances. That was a good way to get themselves into some serious trouble they wouldn’t wanna find themselves in, and he wasn’t talking about explaining why their sons were dead to the guys’ parents.

Jason wore a deadly serious look as he said that the most likely thing that’d happen’d be they’d be forced to pull over somewhere between here and Prudhoe. Once they were stopped, they ran the chance of getting buried by Snow drifts kicked up by the howling Winds, especially if they were stuck for so long that they ran outta fuel and the rigs shut down. If those rigs were to shut down for _any_ reason, they could easily freeze to Death in a matter of minutes, as cold as it was. What lil bit of heat’d be trapped in the cabs wouldn’t last for very long when it was in the neighborhood of fifty below outside those cabs.

“And that’s not including the risk of an avalanche, either,” he said as the waitress finally brought their coffee.

“I’d ask if you’re shitting us, but I can tell by your tone that you’re not,” Bobby dead-panned.

“There’s a DOT crew that goes up and _purposely_ triggers avalanches up on Atigun from Time to Time,” the oldest trucker told them. “Better to shut down the pass, purposely trigger a few avalanches, and clean up the mess before opening it again than to let Nature do it and possibly get somebody killed.”

“Got a point there, son.”

Glancing over, they saw an older man joining their group, and he definitely looked like he’d quite a bit of experience up here.

“Glenn Spears,” he introduced himself with a chuckle. “Been hauling on this road for nearly twenty-five Years, so I’ve seen more than Jason can scare ya with.”

“I’m almost terrified to ask whatcha mean,” Bret told him after they’d introduced themselves in Return.

“Watched one of my long-Time friends go over the Cliff up on Atigun before the DOT started triggering those slides,” the veteran trucker said. “He got damned lucky, ’cuz he wound up standing on his passenger’s door instead of hauled home to be put in his grave.”

“Holy fuckin’ shit, man,” Rikki breathed, his aqua eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.

“Yeah, talk about something making some hair grow on your chest,” the rookie agreed. “Gods, I’ll look like some kinda Wild Animal by this Summer, if I keep hearing stories like that and wind up having similar experiences of my own.”

“That’d be a shock, kid,” the bassist laughed. “’Cuz I don’t think either of us’ve sprouted a single chest hair since our balls dropped as teenagers.”

Even Glenn couldn’t help a laugh at that comment before he turned a serious look on his younger compatriots. He made no bones about having some serious Faith in them, considering they were the top drivers of their company, but his advice was simple. After all the crazy shit he’d seen on the Haul Road in his Day, he wouldn’t advise trying to drive through this particular blow, and definitely not with passengers.

The veteran trucker couldn’t Begin to explain why, but something told him that anybody who headed toward Prudhoe today was gonna be damn lucky, if the worst that happened to them was getting stuck in a pull-out. He just got that really bad feeling that he couldn’t shake, and that was what was making _him_ stay here in Coldfoot instead of trying to continue on just yet. When they thought about it like that, none of the younger truckers wanted to go against his advice, especially Richie. It was one thing for someone who’d earned a title like _Haul Road Ace_ to say something like that–it was another for a veteran with even more experience than him to.

After less than a minute’s Thought, Jason said that he definitely wasn’t going anywhere today, that he’d rather play it safe than be sorry later. He’d have made that decision, even if it was just himself in his rig this run, but with Rikki in his passenger’s seat, he definitely wasn’t taking any chances. Marina and her boyfriend both agreed, saying that having Bret and Bobby in their own passenger’s seats just made them wanna play it that much safer, too.

“Guess we’re just gonna be finding something to do here at the truck stop, then,” the drummer said. “’Cuz I’d really rather live to go back home to California.”

“Good call, whoever made it.”

They all looked up as yet another veteran with even more experience than Jason walked in.

“What’s up, Lane?” said trucker asked, rising when he heard his tone.

“Slide just came down slopes twelve and twenty-five up on Atigun,” he answered, sounding a bit breathless as he joined them.

“Fuck, they got enough hands up there?” Jason asked, now sounding horrified.

“If you’re crazy enough to go up there, that’s your call,” the slightly-younger veteran told him. “It’ll be Days before they get that mess cleaned up, even _with_ extra hands.”

“Then I’ll leave my passenger here and go help out however I can,” he said, snatching up his coat.

“Jason, are ya fuckin’ crazy!?” Rikki asked. “How the fuck am I supposed to get outta here, if ya _don’t_ come back?”

“Catch a ride with Rina and Bret,” the oldest of their convoy answered. “I’d say Richie and Bobby, but I get the feeling Richie’d rather sendja up North with me to take your chances.”

“Just ’cuz I don’t want him in my rig with me doesn’t mean I’ve a Death Wish for him,” the virtuoso retorted. “There’s a difference between not wanting to be around him and wanting him dead.”

“Kid’s a point, Jason,” Glenn told him. “Not gonna ask _why_ he doesn’t wanna be around your passenger, though.”

“Long story short, tried to bring something to his attention and he didn’t believe me,” he explained. “What I was trying to tell him about was traumatizing enough that I’d rather quit my band in the middle of a tour and become a trucker, and I’m nowhere near forgiving him for that–yet.”

“Fair enough, son,” the veterans both agreed. “Can’t say as we blame ya there.”

Almost as soon as they’d closed their mouths, though, the rest of Poison–even Bobby, who despised the cold–surprised them. They didn’t have the slightest clue what they were getting themselves into, but they weren’t about to let Jason and Marina go up there alone. Even if the only thing they could do was help shovel out rigs that’d wind up over the Cliff, if a grader went anywhere near them, they were willing to jump in and help however they could.

The oldest of their convoy shared a look with the lone woman, who seemed thoughtful before she finally gave a single nod. Even she was smart enough to know that the extra hands’d be a good thing, as long as they could keep those hands from freezing off. Looking at her boyfriend, she said that it’d be up to him and her best friend to get his former band mates properly clothed.

Richie simply issued a nod of his own before rising to head out to his rig, ’cuz even he was going along for this part. He knew without having to ask that they were gonna drop their loads here at the truck stop so they wouldn’t have to worry about losing them over the side of a Cliff or anything. The good thing was that there was a shop here that could outfit all their rigs the same way they’d need to be for a major push-trucking gig, which’d help them out. At least they’d still be weighted down so they could grab traction, rather than spinning–and subsequently burning–out somewhere on the pass. That’d certainly help with keeping _them_ from becoming victims claimed by the avalanche currently wreaking havoc up there.

Once they were all dressed better, their loads’d been dropped, and the rigs’d been outfitted with the necessary weight for push-trucking, the trio of truckers took off before their passengers were even buckled in. As they were heading North by almost seventy-five miles, they were all but babbling back and forth over their CBs. So far, the tentative plan wasta get as closeta where the carnage was taking place, then hop out so they could start shoveling. They’d even jump in to help run graders, if need be, since that was something a lotta truckers up here taught themselves how to do on their off-Time.

“Sounds like as good a plan as any to me, Ace,” Richie called out.

_“Well, it’s not like we can really do much beyond that,”_ the oldest trucker responded.

_“Especially not till we get up there and find out how bad it_ really _is, Outlaw,”_ his girlfriend added.

_“Yeah, once we get up there and find out more, we’ll be able to make a better plan to run on,”_ Jason agreed Sagely.

“Hey, I get that all too well,” the virtuoso chuckled. “Even Bobby’s nodding from my passenger’s seat.”

“Sometimes, ya just gotta plan as ya go,” Bobby said when he held the mic out to him.

_“Definitely true, man,”_ he laughed. _“Good thing’s that we’re almost there, so we’ll be finding out what we’re getting into soon enough.”_

_“Copy that,”_ Marina said.

Only moments later, Jason was slowing down as they approached the bottom of Atigun Pass on the South side. From what he could see from this distance through the blinding Snow, this was a bad avalanche that’d definitely keep the road closed for at least a Day. If it was opened up for traffic to get through again by the same Time tomorrow, he’d be surprised ’cuz he thought Glenn and Lane were right about it being more like a couple Days before that happened.

The first to get to the scene was the guy who usually caused these kinda Disasters on purpose _after_ shutting down the pass. Art Blanchard knew a thing or five about this kinda thing that made him the perfect guy to lead the crew already working on cleanup. His DOT outpost being about four miles away at Chandalar House meant he’d get here quicker than even EMS, no matter how Knowledgeable he was or wasn’t.

“Got some extra hands with us, too!” the oldest trucker screamed into the howling Winds as the rest of his group fought their way over to them.

“I don’t care who they are, how much experience they’ve got, or any of that shit!” he screamed back. “As long as they can follow directions and get the hell outta the way, if another one starts coming down, we can use all the hands we can get!”

“Just tell us what to do!” Bobby yelled, knowing his voice’d carry best since it was deepest.

Nodding, the DOT manager started giving them a rundown on what signsta pay attention for so they could escape any other subsequent avalanches in Time. Since they weren’t gonna be heading up the Mountains that bordered the pass, telling them to listen for a _whump_ under their feet wouldn’t do any good. However, they _could_ listen for even the softest rumble that might cut through the howling of the Wind, which was a part of even the mildest avalanche. That rumble’d turn into a full-on roar as the Snow came down the slide paths once it turned loose and started picking up speed as it came down.

Another sign of an avalanche about to come falling down on them was what appeared to be snowballs or chunks of rock rolling down the Hill in front of them. Pretty much the second they saw that, they’d better hope they could run and dive for cover hundreds of feet away, or they’d be the next casualties. Everybody agreed that the last thing they wanted wasta get caught up in this as a casualty, and all agreed to be extremely careful.

It wasn’t long before Rikki and Bobby’d managed to free the first of who knew how many victims from his rig, glad to see that he was able to move on his own. He was pretty disoriented, no doubt from having been tossed around a bit, but at least he didn’t seem to have worse than a knot on his head. Even still, he was gonna be taken back to Coldfoot, where he’d be airlifted down to Fairbanks so he could get a better examination, not to mention treatment for his injuries. They didn’t really have any other choices beyond that, but it was a relief just to see this guy alive since that gave them some Hope. Maybe he wasn’t the only survivor, but just one of many who were still waiting for someone to find them and come to their aid, too.

By the Time they got a second victim freed, Jason and Richie managing to rescue a third trucker, Bret and Marina’d been forced to retreat to her rig for as short a break as they could manage. Neither’d gotten a chanceta eat before they left Coldfoot, and they were both feeling the effects of low blood sugar. If they didn’t get food in them with a quickness, they were gonna become casualties of a different sort sooner rather than later, and that was the last thing they wanted.

“Where the hell’s Rina?” the virtuoso yelled through the Wind.

“And Bret, for that matter?” Rikki added.

“You’re talking about the shorter blonde and the young woman, right?” Art asked.

“Yeah, those two,” Bobby answered.

“Back in her rig,” he yelled. “Said something about not feeling good and needing to retreat before they wound up being casualties, too.”

“Means their sugar was acting up,” Jason told him. “He’s diabetic, _she’s_ hypoglycemic, and neither got a chanceta eat yet.”

“Not good, but at least they know their own warning signs,” the DOT manager responded.

“I’d rather find out they retreated for food than to find them face-down in the Snow,” Richie agreed. “At least we know they’re as safe as they _can_ be.”

Before long, the pair that coulda been in some serious trouble were calling everyone else–even the hard-working DOT crew–over in pairs. Once they’d satisfied their own needs, they’d gotten busy with whipping up food for everyone else since they knew it’d be necessary. After all, none of the rest of their group’d gotten breakfast before they’d left the truck stop, and they were all burning a lotta Energy right now. It was pretty much a given that the DOT crew were starting to feel weak from a lack of food combined with the Arctic conditions, and Marina wasn’t about to let them get themselves in trouble, either.

As each group killed off what she and Bret’d rustled up in her sleeper–which also gave them some Time to warm up a lil–they all started feeling better. They were all determined to get back to work so they could free even more survivors, even if they’d to work well into the Night. If they’d any kinda Luck, none of the trapped truckers’d be going home to their families in body bags, which was what spurred them on.

Within another three or four hours, they’d managed to free pretty much every trucker that’d gotten caught up in the avalanche. Once settled in the sleepers of the three rigs, where they were wrapped up in electric blanketsta add to the heat blown through the vents, said truckers got turned around to head back to Coldfoot. There was nothing more they could do for the moment, given that the DOT crew needed to clear the Snow outta the road. Any rigs that were left stranded–and most likely totaled from the Snow that’d come down the Mountain–would get towed outta the way by the graders. Most likely, they’d be towed up to Prudhoe to any available truck yard for repairs, if possible–otherwise, it was down to Fairbanksta be junked.

The ride to Coldfoot felt longer than it normally did from this point, and Richie supposed he wasn’t the only one who felt that way right now. No doubt his convoy partners felt the same way due to the hypothermic passengers in all their sleepers, which’d make even half a mile seem more like a hundred to anybody. But the thing that kept his urgency from eating him alive right now was knowing that he’d been part of the reason these men’d eventually get to go home, and that was what mattered to him.


	14. Thirteen

“Christ on a crutch– _that_ was fuckin’ insane, boys!”

Walking back into the truck stop at Coldfoot, now that their extra passengers’d been turned over to the EMS crews who’d been waiting on them, the trio of truckers and trio of rockers alike were relieved. They’d all changed into warm, dry clothes before getting back outta the rigs once they were parked, but they were all still pretty cold. Bobby was prolly the coldest of them since he’d made no bones about being from Florida and liking the heat and humidity of that State far more than the cold and Snow of this one. Regardless of who was colder or warmer than anyone else right now, they all agreed with the statement Bret’d just made.

“No fuckin’ shit, man,” Rikki agreed as they settled for what’d amount to a late lunch.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been part of an avalanche rescue crew before now,” the bassist said, his hands tucked up into his armpits as he shivered.

“C’mere, you.” Marina wrapped an arm around him and jerked him over sideways till he was practically laying on her.

He couldn’t help a yelp as he tumbled sideways, his head and neck only supported by her shoulder once he was practically stretched out on her.

“Okay–can’t say we expected _that,”_ the vocalist mused.

“Better to share body heat when warm clothing ain’t quite enough to cut it,” she chuckled, not surprised when her boyfriend practically flattened himself across his former band mate from the other side.

“Might be a lil weird for us, but she’s a point,” Richie agreed. “I’ll take a lil weirdness, if it means not having to watch _anyone_ die today.”

“Same here,” Bobby said, unable to help the urge to snuggle between them more like a child. “Won’t stop me from thanking ya since ya _could_ lemme freeze, though.”

The virtuoso chuckled as that prompted his girlfriend into threatening the retention of his manhood, if he kept doing something she considered silly. After all, he coulda stayed here at the truck stop–whether alone or with the blonde half of his band–where he’d have been safe, warm, and dry. Since he’d decided to head up North and dive right into the fray with everyone else, helping him warm up again was the least they could do.

It didn’t take more than a couple minutes for the afternoon shift waitressta walk over so she could take their orders, and she was a bit surprised to see the odd lil Dog-pile they’d made. But she was quick to take their drink order, which she gave to a co-worker so she could make a quick run to the hotel next door. Even she could see that the man sammiched between the couple was a pale shade of blue from how cold he still was, although not so much that they’d to worry about him passing out anytime soon. All they really needed to do was get him warmed up, and his flesh’d no doubt Return to its normal tan hue with a healthy pink in some places.

The waitress Returned a few minutes later with a pair of electric blanketsta wrap around the obviously-cold man, her co-worker bringing their drinks over to their table. Within a few minutes, they’d gotten Bobby settled so he was sitting on one of the electric blankets with it folded over his legs so they were covered. The second one was wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak, held shut by the single fist that peeked out to do just that. Both were turn onto medium for now so they wouldn’t warm him up _too_ rapidly and cause problems that way.

Even Richie was glad to hear him practically purr as the blankets started warming up, that warmth subsequently seeping into his body. He knew he wasn’t gonna like when he’d to go back outside, whether they all headed next door to the aforementioned hotel or back to the rigs. After getting nice and toasty like that, he wouldn’t wanna have to go back out in the cold either, so he totally understood that mentality. The good thing was that the hotel manager’d said that as long as they were Returned, they were on loan through even them heading up to Prudhoe. After all, they’d most likely be stopping by the truck stop again on their way South to Fairbanks, so they were willing to let him use them through even then.

“All right, what the hell’re we gonna do once we get done eating?” Bret asked.

“Yeah, ’cuz we’re all bound to get bored eventually,” the drummer added.

“And God knows that’s gonna lead to trouble for me, alone,” Bobby chuckled. “Can’t help it, though, since I’ma Scorpio.”

“What’s _that_ got to do with anything?” the oldest trucker asked, cocking a brow as he reached for his mug.

“Different Zodiac signs’re prone to different Energy levels when it comesta physical activity,” his best friend laughed. “Scorpios’re one of the most active Zodiac signs when it comesta wanting to _go-go-go_ and never seeming to run outta Energy for anything.”

“Well, no fuckin’ Wonder ya didn’t seem to get tired up there at Atigun, even when the cold was making everyone else wanna drop like flies,” Jason chuckled.

“It was that as much as wanting to keep warm,” he told him. “I know moving around’ll help with that, and that I was likely to get the coldest, the quickest.”

“Hey, if having ants in your pants keptcha alive to change them again…” Rikki shot him a grin.

“Yeah, I’d rather see ya be an oversized wiggle worm, if it avoids having to take ya back home to Mama Lynda for a proper burial,” the vocalist agreed.

“But having that kinda Energy level with no way to burn off some of it’s gonna getcha in trouble quick,” Marina mused. “Not that that’ll be any kinda problem–we find ways of entertaining ourselves that _don’t_ involve burning down the truck stop up here.”

“At this point, I’m open to just about any suggestions,” the bassist said.

Grinning, she said they could all burn off some Energy by helping said truck stop and the neighboring hotel do shit like chop more Fire wood when they needed it. She wasn’t stupid enough to make any of them stay out so long that they wound up hypothermic, but it was certainly an idea that’d give them a reason to feel good about themselves later. But that wasn’t her only idea, considering that even she and Jason weren’t stupid enough to put themselves at risk overmuch just to help someone else out.

Richie couldn’t help a chuckle as he rose from his seat, easily managing to snag both hers _and_ the oldest trucker’s keys off their belt loops. That chuckle turned into a full-on laugh as his former band mates looked surprised when they didn’t react in the slightest, as if this were a common occurrence. Course, when they thought about it, it prolly _was_ a pretty common occurrence, no matter where they were parked.

It wasn’t long before he Returned, all three sets of keys hanging from different belt loops as he hauled two gig bags for acoustic guitars on his shoulders. A third gig bag for an acoustic was in his left hand, but it almost looked a lil longer than the ones hanging from his shoulders. That was what made Bobby’s eyes Light up more than a lil bit, ’cuz even though he considered himself a guitarist first, he’d take even a bass right about now. If nothing else, it’d give him a way to jam so he could at least get _that_ outta his system since he knew damn good and well he wasn’t gonna get laid anytime soon.

“Got only the two guitars and the one bass, guys,” the virtuoso said. “And you’ll be lucky to get the latter and one of the former away from their owners without a fight.”

“Whyddaya say that?” Bret asked with a chuckle.

“’Cuz my guitar used to belong to my dad,” Jason answered, grabbing the gig bag off his convoy partner’s left shoulder, as well as the keys dangling over his left back pocket.

“And considering how much I spent on my bass once he’d worked with me to get better at pickin’, I’d have to be crazier than I am to let _just anyone_ touch it,” the young woman said.

“Hey, fair enough.” Even the bassist nodded. “Can’t say we’re any different when it comesta our own gear.”

“Behave yourselves, and we might be talked into sharing, though,” her best friend chuckled.

“I think we can live with that for an answer,” Bobby laughed.

Deciding it was better to just follow their bassist’s example, even Bret and Rikki took one of the few opportunities they got to enjoy some Music without having to make it, themselves. While they might not’ve liked _every_ song the trio choseta play, at least there was _some_ form of entertainment for even the other truckers in the building. But that was soon to Change when Jason finally made a decision, a slight smirk on his face when he held his guitar out to the band’s bassist by its neck.

Not even Richie was immune to a bout of laughter at the way his eyes lit up as he eagerly took the instrument just short of snatching it away from him. Since they didn’t have enough for everybody, he and the vocalist were just gonna have to share, provided that they were given the okay to, but that was perfectly fine. After all, they could pass it back and forth for every other song or something, depending on what they decided to play.

Marina grinned as she started picking out a riff on her bass that was all too familiar to Bobby, who grinned as he echoed her in Return. It was almost like she was telling him what she Intended to play, and he was asking if he’d heard right, just through the strings of guitars. One couldn’t say that musicians didn’t have their own private language they could Communicate in much like truckers did that only another musician’d understand. If they tried saying that, anyone with a functioning set of ears’d gladly tell them just how wrong they were, and this was one of those cases.

“I say we let Richie take the lead on this one,” she snickered. “I mean for both guitar _and_ vocals.”

“And what if I don’t wanna?” the virtuoso shot back with a smirk.

“Then I’ll just do it my damn self since even I can pull off that rich, bluesy Sound,” Marina laughed. “And I kinda wanna see how it’d sound like that as compared to letting Bret do it.”

“I think ya might have to,” he chuckled. “Can’t say I can recall the lyrics quite as well since it wasn’t ever one of my favorites.”

“Then there’s gonna be a slight Change to said lyrics,” the young woman said as she grinned.

“Fine by me, as long as Bret can standja somewhat butchering his song,” Richie laughed.

“Bah, ain’t really butchering it, andja know it, love!” she retorted. “Now, get to it and lead us away!”

Unable to help a laugh, the virtuoso did just that, she and Bobby quick to follow with their own riffs as he did. Since there technically _wasn’t_ a rhythm riff, they were both basically playing the bass riff in tandem with each other, but it still worked out well enough. After all, once Rikki joined in by using the tabletop as a kit since he lacked even practice pads, all they were missing was the vocalist’s harmonica part. In all Honesty, it didn’t sound all that bad like this–if anything, it just sounded like an impromptu version of what they’d done with it on _MTV Unplugged_ a few Years ago, which it kinda _was_. But it also caught the attention of nearby truckers and other folks passing through on some wild and crazy adventure as they worked their way through the intro.

_“Well, I calls mah babeh on the telephone… He says,_ Hurry home, Rina, ’cuz I’m all alone… Ah, now giddyap, a-hurry, and a-don’t be late, ’cuz a b-b-b-b-baby, I just can’t wait,” the young woman sang, unable to help a grin.

Richie bit back a snicker as he sawed out that lead riff with almost perfect precision, just like he’d done onstage more than a few Times the Year previous.

_“Starts talkin’ dirty right in my ear, makin’ ’imself so perfectly clear_ – _he needs some…good Love,”_ she continued. _“So, I roll ’im over in the middle of the Night, and I rock mah babeh till the Mornin’ Light_ – _gettin’ hot… Good Love_ – _yeah.”_

Even Bret couldn’t help a grin as he shook his head, Jason outright laughing, ’cuz while she was kinda butchering the song, it made it that much more entertaining.

_“Well, the good people say I’ma sinnin’ woman_ – _but if they knew mah babeh, they’d understand… And the neighbors keep a-yellin’ ’bout all the noise_ – _they say,_ The things you’re doin’ ain’t Natural, girl…”

“Git ’er done, girl!” one of the truckers making up their small audience hooted as he clapped.

_“Well, mah babeh, he just lovesta play, and I need mah babeh each and every Day_ – _I need some…good Love… We’re hoppin’, boppin’ in the ol’ Moonlight, rockin’ and a-rollin’ till the Mornin’ Light_ – _gettin’ hot… Good Love… Ah, bring it home!”_

Marina grinned as her boyfriend ripped into the bluesy solo that was originally written by Poison’s first guitarist–well, as per their lineup featured on their first three albums, that is. He may not’ve liked many of the songs from their first five Years or so as a band, but he could certainly do them Justice and then some when he put his mind to it. That just spoke volumesta his abilities as a musician, though, ’cuz not many’d that kinda talent when it came to mastering their chosen instrument.

_“Well, mah babeh, he just lovesta play, and I need mah babeh each and every Day_ – _I need some…good Love…”_ she continued after that solo.

Richie knew this part was gonna be a good one which was what split his face in another grin.

_“Well, mah daddy thinks that I’ve gone crazy, and my poor boss swears I’m a-losin’ my cool…”_

Even the vocalist couldn’t help bursting into laughter since he knew her father and boss were one and the same, unlike’d been the case for himself when he’d written these lyrics–well, the original ones, that is.

_“But I just a-wantsta play with mah babeh_ – _if ya only knew what he could do!”_

Said baby didn’t bother trying to bite back his laughter, although he managed to keep playing without missing a single beat.

_“Starts talkin’ dirty right in my ear, makin’ ’imself so perfectly clear_ – _need some…good Love, yeah. Babeh, he just lovesta play, and I need mah babeh each and every Day! I need some…good Love_ – _yeah, yeah, yeah! Start hoppin’, boppin’ in the ol’ Moonlight, rockin’ and a-rollin’ till the Mornin’ Light_ – _gettin’ hot, hot, hot! Good Love_ – _so damn hot!”_

Even as she killed off the song with its customary sigh, Bret managed to stop grinning long enough to add the cheek-pop that was present right before it in the studio version. By this point, poor Jason’d fallen over against ol’ Glenn–who wasn’t in much better shape–he was laughing so hard at the butchered lyrics. Then again, it was prolly one of Poison’s dirtiest songs besides the infamous _Talk Dirty to Me_ from their debut album, or even the title track of their third album, _Flesh and Blood_. It was no doubt to lift the Spirits of just about everyone pretty much snowed in right now, which was exactly why she’d picked it.

“Okay, even _with_ that lil bit of butchering, I can’t say it sounded _that_ bad,” he chuckled once everybody’d Calmed down enough to talk.

“And that even stronger country twang of yours definitely added more of a bluesy feel to it,” Rikki agreed.

“Well, that’s what I was shootin’ for, boys,” the young woman laughed. “’Cuz if I hadn’t done it that way on purpose, you’d never be able to tell me and Bret apart, aside from that country twang.”

“No fuckin’ way, girl,” Bobby chuckled.

“Ya really wanna test me on that, _Voodoo Dall?”_ she asked. “’Cuz ask any of these truckers in here–I ain’t gonna say somethin’ like that without bein’ willin’ to put my money where my mouth is.”

“Don’t challenger ’er, if you’re not willing to lose a bet or five, boy!” someone behind her laughed.

“Girl ain’t kiddin’ when she says that,” Glenn agreed with a chuckle of his own.

“Then I think I’ll just take ya at your word so I can keep my money,” the bassist said. “’Cuz I’ve worked my ass off and quite literally broken my neck for it, so I’d like to keep it.”

The oldest trucker cocked a brow at him much like many of his compatriots did, which just made him chuckle again as he gingerly laid the bass he was holding flat on the table. As he reached up to rub the back of his neck and at least _try_ to pop it, he wasn’t shy about explaining how he’d stupidly tried to leave a bar one Night on his Harley, even though he was too drunk to even walk straight. Only a couple blocks down the street, he’d swerved to avoid someone that’d walked out in front of him and wound up slamming into a telephone pole. He was lucky to’ve been able to get up and walk away, considering he was pretty banged-up–and that wasn’t even including the discs in his neck that’d wound up herniated.

But Bobby’d at least somewhat learned his lesson that Night, ’cuz any Time he planned on drinking now, he made sure his manager took even his house keys away from him. He walked around in enough pain from those herniated discs, which served as a constant reminder of his stupidity, and didn’t relish the idea of adding to that pain. At least he only seemed to do stupid shit that could worsen his old injury when he was onstage, rather than adding to it and/or hurting someone else by driving drunk.

Once he’d gotten a lil bit of a break–not to mention a helluva neck rub from Marina–they jumped back into playing whatever came to mind. There was a lotta instrument-swapping between those gathered, the virtuoso being the only one who _didn’t_ relinquish his at any point since he was playing lead the whole Time. But Poison songs–both ones he’d helped write and ones he hadn’t–weren’t the only shit they played while they were jamming. Just to satisfy some of those in their impromptu audience, they’d even dive into songs that’d Inspired this band over the Years, and even a few country tunes Jason and the young woman’d grown up on.

Eventually, instruments’d to be Returned to their owners so they could be stowed back in their rigs, ’cuz there were a few things that still needed to be done. While they were trapped in Coldfoot, they decided to make use of the hotel’s facilitiesta get their laundry done so they’d have clean clothes. Besides, they also needed to fuel up and do a few checks on their rigsta make sure they’d be able to make it to Prudhoe once they took off.

All in all, this ride-along up the Haul Road was certainly turning into an Enlightening trip for the guys who were once Richie’s band mates, and they were enjoying even the dangerous parts of it.


	15. Fourteen

It was another Day before any of the truckers more or less trapped at Coldfoot got word that Atigun Pass’d been opened up again. During the Time of their entrapment, the guys who still made up Poison jumped in to do whatever they could to help out around the truck stop and hotel both. Luckily for them, Bret’d brought his diabetic supplies with him from their hotel in Fairbanks, so he was good to go for at least a couple weeks. They were just glad that they weren’t trapped so far North of the Arctic Circle for that long, thus forced into finding out how much longer he could last _without_ those supplies.

Once they were able to hit the road again, said guys got their first good look at the aforementioned pass and all its Dangers in their full Glory. None of them could look out their windows and over the edge of the Cliff for more than a split-second at a Time. In fact, all of them whimpered like scared puppies when they got a good look at what’d be a fall to their Deaths, if any of the rigs went over that edge.

By the Time they finally made it to the Native yard up in the Town of Deadhorse, which wasn’t far from Prudhoe, all of them were relieved. Not even Bret, Bobby, and Rikki could deny that they were glad to finally be somewhere relatively safe, considering that they could be flown back down to Fairbanks, if need be. However, they weren’t expecting what they found out upon joining the trio of truckers they were with in the dispatch office so they could nab potty breaks.

“Gotcha going out to Nuiqsut today, guys,” Alan said, handing out paperwork as the trio of musicians rejoined the group.

“New-what, now?” Bret queried, cocking a brow.

“Nuiqsut,” Marina laughed. “Native village out across the Coleville that’s cut off till Winter sets in good and the Ice roads can open.”

“Wait, we’re going out on solid Ice?” His jaw dropped in shock.

“Not unless ya wanna,” the young woman answered with a grin. “Y’all can stay here at the terminal so we know y’all won’t go through, if you’re _that_ scared.”

“It’s usually not that bad at this Time of Year,” Jason spoke up after reading over his own paperwork. “I mean, there’s more Danger with crossing a River than with a Lake ’cuz of the current, but the Ice usually holds up pretty well.”

“It’s toward the _End_ of the Season when it’s starting to warm up that we’re honestly in the most Danger,” she agreed. “That’s when the Ice’s starting to thin out, which makes it easier for even a bobtail rig to fall through.”

“Bobtail rig?” Bobby asked, looking as confused as his friends.

“Rig without a trailer,” Richie chuckled. “You’ll get used to the terminology, especially if ya lose your mind enough to actually join us.”

“Well, personally, I say let’s keep the adrenaline rush going,” Rikki snickered. “I mean, short of falling through the Ice into a frigid, Watery Death, how much worse can it get besides getting stuck on the side of the road?”

“True enough,” the shorter blonde finally agreed. “I mean, we’d freeze to Death either way–at least falling through the Ice’d get it over with quicker.”

Not about to let his friends take off on one of their wildest adventures without him, the bassist agreed to go with them, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Course, he could tell that he wasn’t the only one who was scared of making his first trip across nothing but a sheet of Ice. One look at the younger brunette told him that he was just as terrified of such a Thought, maybe even more so. He’d never done this kinda thing, even when it was just himself in his rig–he definitely hadn’t when he’d a passenger to worry about, too.

After collecting their loads–which were van trailers full of suppliesta be hauled out to the Native village for another Year’s survival–Jason made everybody gather outside his rig, despite the cold. He and Marina’d done this so many Times over the Years–and not necessarily on tripsta Nuiqsut–that they already knew what they were doing. But with this being his first Season as an Ice road trucker, let alone driving over a frozen River or Lake without a manmade Bridge, they’d to give the youngest trucker a bit of a crash course. If they failed to do that, it could send the entire group plunging to that aforementioned frigid, Watery Death none of them wanted.

Speed limits were set for Ice crossings for much the same reason as on paved roads–to keep those who drove on them safe. But unlike a paved road and losing Control around a curve or something, speeding on the Ice could damn well make it crack and cause a hole big enough to swallow a big rig and then some to open up right under their tires.

Pretty much every Ice road that actually crossed open Water’d an understood speed limit of ten miles an hour. Going even _twenty_ miles an hour under such conditions could cause a Wave under the Ice that’d put too much pressure against and crack it. Once that upward push cracked it, whoever was closest to the crack was pretty much guaranteed to go through. If all three rigs were close enough, or the crack that formed was big enough to reach even whoever was leading the convoy–well, that pretty much meant all of them were gonna die. But there was another point that was of grave concern to the oldest trucker, who’d seen and heard of it happening a few too many Times for his liking in his twenty-eight Years.

“And whatever ya do, _don’t_ fuckin’ stop on the Ice unless your brakes lock up or something,” he said, looking the shorter brunette in the eye.

“I’m not even sure I wanna ask what’ll happen, if I do,” Richie told him, unable to help an audible gulp.

“Same thing as driving too fast,” his girlfriend answered. “The vibrations of an idling rig combined with stationary weight’ll send it through the Ice.”

“Okay, consider me officially terrified,” the drummer chuckled nervously.

“Me, too,” Bret agreed, reaching up to rub his arms. “Not to mention half-frozen already.”

“Then let’s get back in the rigs and get going,” Jason told them. “Marina and I’ve enough experience at this that we’re not gonna let Richie do anything stupid, or he wouldn’t be convoying with us.”

“Got that right,” she agreed, pulling her man down for a quick kiss.

“Then let’s get going so we can meet up on the other side,” the virtuoso said as he straightened.

Nodding their agreement, the group split up into their more or less assigned pairs so they could haul themselves up into the idling rigs. Before he disengaged his brakes so he could take off, the oldest trucker grabbed his CB mic and called out to the youngest in their convoy. One last tip he Intended to give him before they set out wasta keep his seat belt off and his door open while they were on the Ice. It’d raise his chances of getting out alive, should he start going through the Ice, if he didn’t have to fight with those thingsta even attempt jumping outta his rig in a desperate bid for survival.

Calling out his affirmative, Richie prepared himself to take off behind his girlfriend and her best friend, putting all his Faith in them and a God he didn’t always believe in. If he got through this run alive, he’d call it a good Day when he parked at wherever he wound up at, whether it was Nuiqsut or Fairbanks. Getting through this run alive with his passenger just as much alive’d just make it that much better for him, all things considered.

Another three Days passed with pretty much no complications, and the group of truckers and musicians found themselves pulling back into the Native yard in Fairbanks. Much to everyone’s amusement, Bret, Bobby, and Rikki and dropped to their knees and mimed kissing the ground outside this particular dispatch office. All three of them knew better than to actually kiss the ground unless they wanted to be stuck to it, but they were all relieved to be back in Fairbanks in technically three pieces.

Heading into Dispatch once they’d collected themselves and gotten back to their feet, the truckers were all ready to get their next loads so they could head out again. The musicians that’d been riding along with them for nearly a week now definitely couldn’t deny that they’d a hard job. Not many’d what it took to even come up here to Alaksa, let alone do what they did for a living and be able to go home alive at the End of it all.

But upon walking into Dispatch, the more experienced truckers got a bit of an unexpected surprise upon being handed their paperwork. It wasn’t necessarily the load that was the surprise–they’d done this kinda thing plenty of Times before, both together and with other truckers employed by Native. No, it was the fact that Kyle’d decided to assign Richie as the third trucker for their convoy that was more of a surprise than anything. Considering the monetary value of this load and his blatant inexperience, they were surprised that he’d assign him as the third trucker.

“You’re sure Daddy actually okay’d this, Dale?” Marina asked, surprise coloring her features.

“No other truckers available,” the dispatcher answered, nodding. “Ya know he’s to trust someone a helluva lot to put them on a job like this especially with as lil experience as Richie’s got.”

“So, what exactly does all this big-worded mumbo jumbo mean?” said youngest trucker queried.

“Remember all the Times I’ve referenced what I call _big-girl bumper cars,_ love?” she countered.

Richie’s eyes widened as it suddenly clicked. “You’re fuckin’ shitting me!”

“Nope.” Even Jason was amused as he shook his head. “That’s pretty much what push-trucking boils down to, kid.”

“Wait, _push-trucking?”_ Bobby asked. “The hell’s that supposed to be?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” the oldest trucker laughed. “The load we’re being sent down to Anchorage to get’s a hundred-ton modular building that’s to get up to Prudhoe as quick as we can manage.”

“Jesus Christ!” Rikki breathed, his own eyes widening.

“With that load that heavy, one rig wouldn’t make it outta Fairbanks on its own,” he continued. “It definitely wouldn’t make it through the Taps without getting stuck, especially on a Hill like the _Rollercoaster.”_

“The first rig in the convoy actually does the hauling,” Marina told them. “The other two provide the Power through those Hills.”

“I’m the one with the most experience, so I’ll prolly be the lead rig,” Jason said. “Most likely Marina’ll be in the second rig, which means she’ll purposely rear-End me to hook up.”

“Whoever’s last in line rear-Ends the middle rig to hook up so they can add that much more power to the efforts,” she chuckled.

“Sounds easy enough,” the virtuoso mused.

“Not!” they both laughed.

“Ya gotta maintain a specific RPM, not a specific speed,” the young woman told him. “The precision of the Timing when it comesta shifting gears so ya can do that without unhooking too early’s right up there with brain surgery, it’s so specific.”

Turning back to Dale, his expression shifting to somewhat horrified. “How many screws has Kyle lost again?” he queried.

Laughing, the dispatcher reiterated that they didn’t have any other available truckersta put on this assignment, or they prolly wouldn’t have chosen him. Besides, being trusted with a load like this meant that the bossman _really_ trusted him since he was well aware of his inexperience. He knew that Jason and Marina’d get him through the ordeal in one piece on top of that, so he was confident that he could get the job done.

Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders like he was a military man heading into battle, Richie finally nodded. He was more than willing to at least give it a shot, but he wasn’t guaranteeing a good outcome since he’d never done this kinda thing before. Obviously, the Intent wasta get the job done and make it home alive, but when combined with all the Dangers already posed by the Haul Road, he knew Mother Nature might decide on something different. All he could do was his best, which included listening to his girlfriend and her best friend when they told him what to and _not_ to do.

Amazingly enough, Kyle hadn’t dictated that his band mates remain in Fairbanks on even this run, which meant it was up to them whether they rode along once again or not. They were all curious enough that they didn’t wanna remain in Fairbanks, if they didn’t have to, and their decision was quickly made. Once Bret’d assured himself that he wouldn’t die of diabetic complications, they once again headed back out to the trio of rigs so they could armor up and head out.

Heaving a sigh as he settled into his driver’s seat, the virtuoso took another deep breath as he shoved his rig into gear. First things first, he and Marina’d to head over to the shop to get their rigs outfitted with counterweights that’d mimic having a loaded trailer on their fifth wheels. Without those counterweights, they’d never be able to find traction up on the Haul Road, which’d send them careening into the ditch. Once they’d done that, they’d be setting out on a five hundred-mile trek South to one of the few big Cities in this massive State. It was then that they’d be picking up the monster load and decided exactly who was in what position as far as their lineup went for the thousand-mile trek up to Prudhoe Bay.


End file.
